The Turning Point Series
by cloogle
Summary: ITV gave us two series. I wanted to write a third to make happen what we all felt was coming. Here lie 6 episodes and a Christmas special.
1. Buckle Up

The rhythmic tick tock of the indicator clicked off as Frank cruised past his turning on the dual carriageway. His hands became lazy at the wheel and slumped down to the base; the hum of the engine provided a comforting white noise. As there were no other cars on the road, the head lamps lit only the tarmac, the trees and the cat's eyes, which blurred into one long stream of flickering light. John, who was laid across the back, felt the car slowly turn left as his upper body was gently pushed against the seats. The ride became bumpy, and a knock to one of the back wheels bounced his head against the car door.

"Shit." John held his head and sat up, squinting at the road ahead. "Where are we?" He settled back and closed his eyes, his vision swimming. "Frank?" No response. "Frank, man, where are we?" He took a deep breath and leant forward, looking at Frank. "Are you asleep? That's really bloody dangerous." He poked his friend firmly in the shoulder, causing him to lift his head. Frank's feet had slid off the pedals and the car was slowly rolling down what appeared to be a stony side lane.

"Mmm? What? Oh, wow, sorry. Christ. Sorry." Frank blinked and rubbed his eyes, returning his feet to the pedals and his hands to the steering wheel. "Thank God there's nothing round here and no one out driving or we might've -" He felt his seatbelt tighten uncomfortably around him as the force of the halting crash pulled him forwards. John fell against the back of the passenger seat, pulling his shoulder slightly out of joint. "Oh God, oh God," cried Frank, frantically switching off the engine, leaving only the headlights on as he turned back to look at his friend. "John, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," John replied, squeezing his shoulder as he stumbled out of the car. He was unsteady on his feet; this was partially due to the shock, but also to the alcohol still in his system.

"Oh no. We hit a car," said Frank as he scrambled out to look at the damage. The cars were nose to nose. The green metallic bonnet of Frank's car was buckled, but there was no significant damage. "Hello? Hello?" he called to the figure sitting at the wheel of the other vehicle. "Are you ok?" Hands shaking, he ran his fingers through his hair, fearing the reaction of the other driver.

"Pft. It's not so bad," remarked John, perching on the bonnet as he lit a cigarette. Frank made his way round to the driver's side of the other car and knocked on the window. The figure inside remained motionless.

"I'm going for a piss," called John as he strode off into the trees.

Frank proceeded to knock on the car window again. "I'm going to open the door." He spoke clearly to the driver, mouthing the words, pointing animatedly at the handle. He opened the door and peered inside. The figure, a man, was still. Frank leaned forward and touched his face; it was ice cold. "Oh Christ." He didn't have to feel his pulse to know that he was dead.

John zipped up his trousers and started walking back to the car. He threw his cigarette butt to the floor and pressed it with his shoe. Feeling something grind underfoot, he looked down and pulled out his lighter to get a better look at the heap on the woodland floor. The light flickered first over dark cloth, then over golden hair, which is when he realised what he had found.

* * *

**Part 1**

* * *

Emma's house

A hand emerged from under the duvet and grappled blindly on the side table. After pressing each of the buttons on the alarm clock - but to no avail - Emma forced one eye open. Her mobile phone flashed, rang and skittered its way across the table towards her. She grabbed it, then closed her eye as she answered.

"Sc'b'ns. Mornin' Gallie." She listened and wrinkled her nose; her throat let out a small whine. "Now? Where? Okay. S'pose I'd better get up then. No, I'll ring her, it's on my way. See you in a bit." She hung up and yawned, becoming aware that the legs of her pyjama bottoms had worked their way up to the tops of her calves. She pulled her knees up towards her chest and snuggled into her pillow. The phone rang again. "Scribbins. Yes. No. Yes, I'm up. Would I lie? Cheeky bugger. Alright, I'll get up."

Kate's flat

Kate stood by the window of her flat and watched early risers making their way out into the dark street to scrape the sleet from their cars before setting off. She pulled her robe further round her body and leant against the radiator. After spending a couple of minutes pondering what she could do with her time before going to the station, she wandered through to the kitchen and pressed the cafétière plunger, which sank satisfyingly to the bottom. Just as she sat down with her cup of hot coffee, the phone began to ring. She lunged for it.

"Hello?"

"It's me."

"Bit early for you, isn't it?" Kate sat back, sipping her coffee, smiling.

"We've been called to a scene. I'll come pick you up."

"And you're all up and ready, are you?" asked Kate.

"Completely," replied Emma.

"I can hear your duvet rustling."

Emma's car

"So, what salacious wonders did you get up to last night?" questioned Kate as they drove along the quiet dual carriageway.

"None. It was our second date and ended in a very innocent second date kiss."

"So when are you next going to see… what was his name? Oh yes. Kermit." Kate smirked.

"His name is Matthew and he doesn't look like Kermit. Saturday if you must know."

"It's those spindly legs and arms."

"He's just willowy."

"No, you just think that if they're ugly they're less likely to cheat."

"That is so not true. Well, it is true, but it's not why I like him. He's caring, and brave. He saved me from drowning, remember."

"He's a lifeguard!"

"So?" Emma shrugged.

"And you were _pretending_ to drown."

"That's irrelevant."

"You don't need a man to save you."

"Yeah, but it'd be nice."

"Yes, I suppose it would," said Kate dreamily, staring out of the car window.

"Any more encounters with your sexy new neighbour? Have you called on him for a quick f- "

"Fudge?"

"Wha?"

Kate showed her the tupperware box filled with neat cubes of fudge. "They've got rum in."

"Thanks, I missed breakfast." Emma took one hand off the wheel and grabbed a piece. "So have you called on him for a quick fumble?"

"I popped round to borrow some sugar."

"The old ones are the best, though isn't that technically what he's supposed to do, seeing as he's the one who is new to the building?"

"Technically, yes, but I got fed up waiting."

"So what happened?" asked Emma.

"His very pretty, silk-clad, half-naked girlfriend answered. Very disappointing. Hence the fudge."

"Ahh, consolation," said Emma as she took a turning.

"That and I didn't want the sugar to go to waste," said Kate downheartedly.

"Is that how you spent your evening, then?" asked Emma, nodding towards the tub.

"Not just that."

"Mm?"

Kate sighed and frowned. "I cleaned the oven, too."

"I see you've got your priorities sorted out then."

Kate ate a piece of fudge and pulled a face at Emma, who laughed.

Tothern Road

"Nice morning for it," commented PC Gallimore cheerily as he met Kate and Emma from their car.

Kate rubbed her hands together to warm them, then pulled her gloves on and crossed her arms over her chest as they started to walk down the slope to the scene. "What have we got?" she asked. Gallimore was about to answer when Kate dipped out of view, having slipped on a pile of wet, frosty leaves. She caught hold of Emma's right arm and Gallimore's left, and they pulled her back up before her bottom touched the ground. She coughed, regained her composure and ignored Emma and Gallimore smirking at each other. "How come this hasn't gone to Traffic?" she continued, unabated.

"We've called in Traffic too. That green car belongs to Frank Isleworth. That's him: the jumpy-looking bloke over there, being cautioned by Mike. He's admitted to falling asleep whilst driving. The other car was stationary when they hit; the collision happened about -" he checked his watch "- an hour ago. He had a passenger in the back: John Phillips. He's still sloshed. They had a really, _really_ late night."

"So where's the driver of the other car?" interjected Emma, who was trying to catch a look through the frosted windscreen. Feeling a chill, she pulled on her grey and blue stripy hat.

"Oh, he's still in there, and very dead, as it happens. There's a dead girl, too," Gallimore replied.

As they approached the crash scene they saw Dr Weatherall in a crouching position by the driver's seat of the silver car. He looked up at them and jumped into conversation. "I'm saying suspicious deaths for now, but I'll know more later. The impact from that gentleman's -" he pointed at Frank "- car is highly unlikely to have caused this man's death. It could have been caused by the first crash, but I'm not sure about that either. He's received a fatal blow to the head but I can't see how, as he is wearing his belt."

"First crash?" Kate asked, confused.

"Yes. I suggest you take a look at the tree near the junction with the main road. It's been cordoned off. Then there's the second body, a female, mid to early twenties."

"Was she hit by the car?" asked Emma.

"No. She was a passenger. Follow me." Together they walked over to the body of the young woman.

"Presumably she left the car after the crash, made her way over here and died shortly thereafter from a haemorrhage. Her head wound was definitely caused by the crash; you can see the impact on the passenger side of the windscreen. It's a fair match."

"So what do you think? She whops him over the head as they're driving, he crashes; she's not wearing her belt and goes into the windscreen. Then they reverse down the lane to get off the road and they both die from their head wounds?" suggested Emma.

"Could be."

Emma looked pleased with herself.

Kate crouched down to closer examine the corpse. "What's that mark on her wrist there?"

"That's where our young friend, Mr Phillips, unwittingly extinguished his cigarette."

"Ah, nice," she said sarcastically.

* * *

They examined the first crash scene and then talked briefly to Frank, who was beside himself with nerves.

"It's Alan. I can't believe it. I didn't recognise him; did I kill him? We went to school together. I hadn't seen him in years. Not since he left Vicky."

Kate stood with one leather-gloved hand over the other. "The young woman we found. Her identification said her name was Louise Bettany. Do you know that name?"

"Louise? Oh no, it can't be Louise. I didn't dare turn her over; face down in the earth, you see. Oh, Louise. I saw her last night. She is, was, the barmaid at the Coach Inn."

Emma examined her notes. "And that's where you were from last night until early this morning?" He nodded in response. "We may wish to speak to you later, Frank, okay? But that's it for now."

Frank meandered off and sat down on a fallen tree trunk, head in his hands.

Kate pointed at Frank's car: two legs poked out from the back seat. Plumes of smoke curled out and dissipated into the sky. "I take it that's the drunk one, or do we have another corpse on our hands?"

"Morning," Emma called through into the car. John sat up and squinted at them.

"Good morning beautiful lady, times two," replied John holding two fingers aloft. Kate and Emma looked at each other and blushed.

"I don't think he's going to be a blind bit of use; he's still pissed." Kate smiled through the words, not wishing John to get the gist of what she was saying.

"At least he's friendly." Emma waved at John, who was happily smoking a cigarette whilst reclining.

* * *

Emma pulled a glove out of her pocket to find that the other was missing.

"Ash, have you seen my other glove? I must've dropped it somewhere. Help me find it? Please? It's perishing."

Kate rolled her eyes and started trailing back up the path they'd been walking down.

Emma scoured the area near the first crash. As she was looking she spotted something which looked out of place, so she plucked a protective glove from her jeans pocket and snapped it on. She freed the object from the earth and leaves and dropped it into an evidence bag.

"Scribbs. I've found it," called Kate from the other side of the clearing. She trudged her way through the mulch over to Emma, who was still crouching down. "All you need now is a length of wool, and then we can thread them through your coat sleeves." She proffered the glove to Emma.

"Ash, look at this." Emma held the bag aloft.

Kate scrunched up her nose. "What is it? It looks like a monkey's paw."

"Ew, Ash. It's a big leather glove. S'probably nothing to do with the case but we may as well take it."

"Agreed."

A soft dusting of snow began to settle, and the scene started to look much more serene than it had.

Beaumont/Christie house

Kate was just about to knock when the door swung wide open. She and Emma were greeted by a tall man with dusty-brown, receding hair, who was holding a large golf umbrella like a walking stick.

"Good morning. I am Detective Inspector Ashurst and this is Detective Sergeant Scribbins from Middle-" Kate was interrupted before she could finish her spiel.

"Well look who's come to interrogate us about your dead husband, Vi." Michael had turned away from them to talk to Vicky, his partner. "It's Agnetha and Anni-Frid." Turning back, he looked them up and down with a distasteful look on his face. "Where are the boys, girls?"

Kate and Emma glanced at each other momentarily, their mouths agape. "Sir, please refrain from insulting us," replied Kate sternly. Michael placed his umbrella under his arm like a general might hold a cane, saluted and said "Yes, Sah!" before walking off, leaving Vicky standing in the doorway.

"I'm really really sorry about him. Come in," Vicky said quietly.

They followed her in.

"I knew I shouldn't have worn this hat," whispered Emma to Kate.

Kate grabbed hold of Emma's elbow and muttered, "Please find some evidence against that idiot so we can throw him in a cell."

* * *

"Alan and me, it just wasn't meant to be." Vicky brushed a stray lock of ash blonde highlighted hair out of her eye and distractedly pulled at her earring.

"And when was the last time you saw your husband?" Kate asked, leaning forward in her chair.

"Yesterday lunchtime. He came round to see Jamie."

"Jamie?" asked Emma.

"Sorry - our son. Me and Alan's, that is."

"And at what time did Alan leave?" questioned Kate.

"Umm." Vicky hesitantly brought a hand to her forehead. "Around 2.30pm."

"How long have you been separated?"

"Oh, I'd say four years or thereabouts; I've given up counting. After he moved to London we only saw him occasionally."

"Yet you never divorced?"

"Alan never wanted one. I wanted to marry Michael but Alan refused, and we didn't have the money to take it to court."

Vicky got up and walked over to the French windows to look out on her son, who was casually kicking a football about in the back garden.

"You can marry Michael now, though," Emma interjected.

"Yes. Yes, I suppose I can."

"Do you have any idea what his relationship with Louise Bettany was?" continued Kate.

"Louise? What has she got to do with this?"

"She was found dead at the same scene," replied Emma.

Vicky's eyed widened. "I have no idea what she would have to do with Alan; they didn't know each other. They met for the first time yesterday when he booked into the B&B at the Coach Inn."

Bettany residence

Kate and Emma sat in the accommodation above the Coach Inn talking to Mark, a man in who was clearly in his forties, but his dejected posture and crumpled look gave him the appearance of someone considerably older.

"We're very sorry for your loss, Mr Bettany," said Kate.

Mark's face contorted into a tortured expression. "I feel so guilty; the last thing we did was fight."

"Over what, may I ask?"

"I get - got - so jealous. I didn't like the customers getting too close, and last night this one man... well, he pushed too far and was all over Louise, falling over her, touching her arm and holding onto her. I don't know. He started whispering to her and I just lost it."

"So, you both argued?" asked Emma.

"Yes, after we'd closed up. She left and said she'd get a taxi to her mother's."

"What time would that have been?"

"That was at about midnight, maybe half past."

"The man who was... flirting with your wife, do you know who that was?" questioned Kate.

"One of the guests staying in the bed and breakfast we run. Alan something, I don't know. I didn't book him in."

"Alan Christie?" asked Emma, who then pressed her lips together.

"That sounds right."

Kate and Emma glanced at each other, then looked to the floor.

"Mr Bettany: Alan Christie and your wife were both found at the same scene. Mr Christie was also deceased," revealed Kate.

"She left with him?" he looked to be on the verge of a breakdown.

"We don't quite know what happened, but we will do our best to find out," said Emma, concerned.

* * *

**Part 2**

* * *

CID – Forensics Lab

"First issue is this: if Alan was in the driver's seat on the first impact, there would be bruising from the seat belt he was wearing when we found him. There isn't any sign of that. Second issue is that Alan's death happened approximately two hours prior to Louise's, at around 11.30pm," Dr Weatherall observed as he showed Kate and Emma the report.

"So what are you saying? Alan wasn't driving when the car crashed?" asked Emma.

"That's right." He pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose as he turned his attentions towards Emma.

"But Louise was in the passenger seat at the time if impact?" she asked.

"Yes, there is no doubt about it."

"So who was driving at the time?" Kate asked as she took the report from the doctor's hand and began flicking through the pages.

"Simple answer is I don't know, but the scene report and pathology results should reveal a few things for you."

"What about the two hour thing? Could Louise have suffered a long, drawn out death?" asked Emma.

"The head wound she received didn't cause her death immediately, but I would say it took no longer than thirty minutes for the swelling to kill her."

"This was supposed to be simple," groaned Kate.

"I can't help the facts," the doctor responded succinctly.

CID Office

"So what have we got?" asked Chief Inspector Sullivan. Kate took the lead with a nod from Emma.

"Alan Christie: time of death roughly 11.30pm. Louise Bettany: time of death about 1.30am." As she spoke she pointed to the relevant pictures on the board.

"Found by…?" asked Sullivan.

"Frank Isleworth and John Phillips, at about 5.30am. Alan in the car, Louise a number of metres away."

"Tell me about Alan."

Emma stepped forward, crossing her arms as she did so. "Used to live in Middleford but moved away to Richmond about five years ago. Came back yesterday to see his wife, Vicky, and their son Jamie. Vicky, incidentally, now lives with another man: Michael Beaumont. Alan has no known current partners."

"Long stay?"

"Booked into the B&B at the Coach Inn for one night only and paid in advance," continued Emma.

"What about Louise?"

Kate took over. "Barmaid and co-owner of the bed and breakfast which adjoins it."

"Co-owner?"

"With her husband Mark, landlord of the Coach Inn."

"When were Alan and Louise last seen?"

"Alan was in the bar until 10.45pm when he was presumed to have left to go to his room."

"Then at 12.30am Louise argued with her husband and left saying she would catch a taxi to her mum's house," added Emma.

"And where's that?" asked Sullivan.

"Up by Little Tothern."

"Little Tothern?"

"Used to be a miniature village; now it's miniature golf," responded Emma.

"Ah, yes. Any leads?" he continued.

"Just trying to get our heads round the mechanics of the incident first, Boss," Kate confessed.

"Sarge." A young male officer interrupted, handing Emma a document.

"Thanks," she responded as she perused the report and settled down on the edge of her desk. "This is interesting."

Kate moved round to Emma's side so that she could peer over her shoulder.

"There were traces of Alan's blood in the boot of the car. No prints on the wheel other than Alan's. There is another set of fresh prints, though - on the passenger side - and they don't match Louise's," summarised Emma.

Kate paced back and forth. "So not only was Alan not driving, but at some point someone had stashed his body in the boot of the car, then moved it to the front seat after the crash."

"Ooh, yay. The glove I found had Alan's blood on it," said Emma excitedly as she carried on reading.

"So we're looking for an assailant who has at least one hand, that's helpful," Kate said sarcastically.

Emma read on. "Alan had some kind of salt-like substance on his shoes and under his nails, as well as a fair bit of brick dust."

"Salt?" asked Kate.

"Well, good luck with it. Let me know how you get on. I know how you two love a good mystery," Sullivan commented as he walked away. Then he swivelled on his heel and added, "Tell you what: I'll buy both of you a drink if you can solve this before the day is out".

Coach Inn bar

"He's completely smitten with you," said Kate to Emma, watching her walk back to the table with their drinks.

"No he's not."

"Believe me, he is. Men like him don't roll out the 'walking into an invisible wall' routine for all the girls." She pointed over to where John Phillips was clearing glasses and tending bar.

"Stop taking the piss, Ash."

"No, really; it's a little-known fact that Marcel Marceau was second only to Casanova."

"Drink your drink," responded Emma as she took a long draw on her own, smiling.

"So did you find out why they were here so late last night?"

"Yeah, turns out they often have a late night poker game here, in the cellar. There's a hatch leading down behind the bar. It finished at 3.30am but Frank and John stayed on at the pub."

"Why?"

"John was upset. His girlfriend dumped him and he was pretty cut up about it. Frank was designated driver so John got absolutely pissed out of his head. A man after my own heart."

"Clearly," she remarked as she watched John waving at both of them. Kate shot a grimacing smile back at him and waved mockingly. "What about the argument? Did they see anything?"

Emma shook her head. "Heard it, but they were downstairs setting up the table."

"Hm. So who was at this game, then?" asked Kate.

Emma pulled out her notebook. "John, Frank, Mark, someone called Ruth Fairbairn… oh, and Michael Beaumont."

"Oh, don't tell me he's got an alibi."

"Well, he was here at the time of the crash, but Alan's death was way before that. Oh, and they said that the next door neighbour, Terry, is a bit of an insomniac, so we should go and ask him what he saw last night."

Terry Payton's house

Kate and Emma stood side by side. Kate knocked at the door. No answer. After a while they gave up waiting and turned just in time to see a small, bright yellow car humming its way into view. It pulled into the drive. Emma's first thought was that Terry's car looked a lot like a little wind-up toy; Kate's first thought was that she wouldn't be seen dead in that thing. They both smiled as Terry got out and approached them. He was an older man of about fifty, with blonde hair that was beginning to grey. Together they questioned him regarding the events of the previous night.

"I'm really sorry. I'd love to help but I really didn't see anything. Took sleeping pills and I conked out around 11pm. I was dead to the world by midnight."

"Were you acquainted with Alan Christie at all?" Kate questioned.

"I know of him. I know his wife; that's all really," he replied.

"What about Louise Bettany?" asked Emma.

"The barmaid next door? She was a lovely girl. Very sweet and trusting; wouldn't hurt a fly. Beautiful, too."

"Well, if you think of anything, please don't hesitate to contact us." Kate handed over their calling card.

They walked away.

"Something doesn't seem quite right about him. Too cagey about last night."

"Maybe he's protecting someone."

As they were approaching the end of the path, Terry called after them. "Excuse me. Um. There may be something of use that I saw yesterday." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"All observations are useful, Mr Payton," Kate said encouragingly.

He walked down to join them. "Last night, just after the ten o'clock news, I looked out and I saw two people in a car."

"Go on."

"Well, I could be wrong but one of them looked like that Alan, and the other was his wife: Vicky. They were all over each other."

Kate and Emma thanked him for the information and walked back to the car.

Emma pulled her hands out of the pockets of her woollen bomber jacket as she reached for the car door handle. For the second time that day, a single glove slipped out and fell to the ground unnoticed.

Ruthie Fairbairn's house

"Call me Ruthie! Everyone does. Can I get you a drink? Tea, coffee, gin tipple?"

_'Call me crazy! Everyone does,'_ thought Kate as she responded with, "Tea will be fine, thanks."

"I never turn down a tea if I can help it," said Emma with a grin on her face.

"I never turn down a gin if I help it, but I suppose these are your working hours," laughed Ruthie as she patted Emma on the hand and wandered off into the kitchen.

"Don't encourage her," Kate whispered to Emma.

They sat down with Ruthie: a middle-aged woman who was bright-eyed and fresh-faced. She crossed her legs and held onto her knee; she was still wearing her Wellington boots.

"What was your impression of Louise?" asked Kate.

"Beautiful girl. Doe eyes. Very, very popular with the men, but she had eyes for Mark only. Shame he didn't realise that, constantly getting riled up over male attention."

"Was Mark ever violent towards Louise or any of their customers?" Emma leant forward and looked up from her notes.

"I don't believe so, but then people don't always show their true natures in front of one another, do they?" said Ruthie rhetorically.

"What about Louise's relationship with John, one of the other bar staff?"

"They were just friends. He knew better than to give Louise the wink whilst Mark was around. Besides, as I understand it, he's in a very happy relationship."

Kate and Emma caught a look at each other, passing messages subconsciously.

"Did anyone leave during the poker game?" asked Emma.

"Apart from the odd toilet stop, you mean? I don't remember anyone doing so, but then I do tend to overdo it on the drink and cigars at these things."

"Anything else of note about the people who were there?" asked Kate.

"I can think of only one: Michael missed the first round because his step-son was ill. Shame as he's usually a good source of cash, as frankly he's dire at poker."

B & B - Alan's room

Emma sifted through the few belongings which Alan had left in his room at the bed and breakfast. It was one of many self-contained rooms which had been built as an extension to the pub.

"Right, okay. That's unexpected. Thanks for letting us know." Kate ended the call. "Looks like Alan was in line for the grave anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"He had terminal cancer. His clinic has advised us that he had only a few weeks left."

"That explains these then," remarked Emma, holding up a variety of bottled pills. "So what then? Is this all an arranged mercy killing?"

Kate shook her head. "If that were the case then why the boot of the car? Why Louise?" she questioned.

"A mercy killing gone wrong?" suggested Emma.

"Or a suicide gone wrong."

"Right, yeah. He'd have enough pills here to do himself in."

"So the question is: was this trip a last goodbye? If it was, then what happened? I think we'd better go and have another word with that wife of his," said Kate.

This time it was Emma's mobile that chirruped into action.

"More?" remarked Kate.

Emma shrugged as she answered. "Scribbins. Brake pipe? Okay. And that was the cause? Manually? Right. Thanks."

"The plot thickens?"

"The brake pipe on Alan's car had been cut. That's why whoever was driving lost control and crashed."

Vicky Christie's house

"We would like to interview Michael at some point. It is important," insisted Kate.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I asked him to stay," muttered Vicky.

"Mind if I use your loo?" Emma asked.

"No, go ahead. Top of the stairs; first on the right."

"We need to know if you were aware of your husband's medical condition."

"Alan was a workaholic and was constantly tired. Took too much on himself. He poured himself into that job and it took all the life out of him."

"Did he inform you that he was dying from cancer? " asked Kate.

Vicky covered her mouth in shock. "He never said anything."

"How did he seem when you saw him?"

"He was a little more distant than normal. I don't know. I didn't know him anymore."

"But you were still close?" asked Kate.

"What do you mean?" Vicky chewed on a chipped nail.

"Someone witnessed you and Alan kissing in his car last night. How come you didn't mention it before?"

"If I said I didn't want to accept that it had happened, would that be okay?"

"Not really, but I'll accept that as an explanation for now," said Kate coldly.

"It was a moment of madness. He had this look in his eyes, like he used to. I should have realised; he looked so sorrowful."

"And you later took your opportunity to kill him, is that how it was?"

"No, no, why would I kill him? What on earth would I have to gain?" Vicky defended herself.

"You said yourself, with Alan out of the way you'd be able to marry Michael."

"I wouldn't. To tell you the truth I was considering leaving Michael. I even went round to Alan's room to ask if there was a chance for us, but he wasn't there."

Upstairs, Emma came out of the bathroom and was met by a small figure. She crouched down to meet his height.

"Hi. Jamie, isn't it?" He looked at her for a while and frowned. Taking her by the hand, he showed her a range of scattered objects on the floor, which turned out to be hundreds of tiny origami shapes.

Beaumont/Christie house - outside

"Hey, look what I made," said Emma, moving her hand through the air. "It's a seahorse."

"Glad to see that you used your time constructively, Scribbs."

"I did actually. Little Jamie and I had a conversation."

"You know you're not supposed to interview children without parental permission," said Kate abruptly.

"I can't help it if they just offer up information. Jamie told me that he wasn't ill last night, and that he woke up to see his step-dad in the tool shed at the time he was supposed to be going to the poker game."

"Really? Now that is interesting. If he did cut the brake pipe, however, it does imply that he didn't murder Alan." Kate bit her lip.

"Why?" asked Emma.

"Alan was already dead by that time. Why would someone try to sabotage the car of a dead person?"

* * *

**Part 3**

* * *

CID - Interview room 1

"Just enough OCD to keep the kitchen spotlessly clean, I'm betting," said Michael cockily.

Kate swivelled on her heel and strode over to the desk. Bending over it, she glared at him.

"Don't Ash, he's just trying to get to you," whispered Emma to Kate, pulling her back.

"Batwoman and Robin," he muttered under his breath. Turning to Emma he added, "What's it like being the sidekick?"

"Hey," said Emma, feeling offended. This time Kate pulled her back. Emma composed herself.

"You didn't get on with Alan, did you Michael? Did you hate him enough to kill him?" asked Kate.

"And why on earth would I want to kill him?" remarked Michael.

"We've been doing some research into you, Mr Beaumont, and it looks like you're in a little bit of debt," said Emma.

"£30,000 worth of debt, to be exact," added Kate.

Michael folded his arms defensively.

"Let's see. You invested large amounts of money in a Spanish vineyard, which consequently failed to produce a profit after a bad season, and you lost your entire investment." Emma sat down on the edge of the table and looked back at him.

"We also hear that you're not too good at poker," said Kate.

"Vicky doesn't know any of this and I don't want her to know, do you hear me? Nevertheless ladies, it doesn't prove anything."

"Was money your motive for murdering Alan? Any money he had would go directly to Vicky after his death. Not a bad incentive," said Emma.

"I would never kill for money," he said.

"What about for love?" asked Emma. "Did you see Alan with Vicky?" Michael flinched but sat stony-faced. "I had a word with your step-son."

"I don't think you did; he's deaf."

Emma motioned a few words in sign language.

Kate looked at Emma, astonished. "DS Scribbins has replied to the suspect in sign language," she reported to the tape recorder. Kate said the next word under her breath. "Unexpectedly." She stepped over to Emma and whispered in her ear, "I hope there wasn't any swearing in that, Scribbs." She turned to look at Michael and reconsidered. "Actually, I hope there was."

Emma continued: "Uniform have been round to your house and found pliers and a pair of gloves, both with brake fluid on them. Now what does that mean to you?"

Michael's smile wavered a little.

CID - Interview rooms corridor

They watched Michael as he was escorted away to a cell.

"I'd like to kick the swagger from his step," said Kate bitterly.

"None of this makes sense," remarked Emma. "We have a dying man who came back to see his wife and child for possibly the last time. An embittered man who intended to kill his girlfriend's husband and ended up causing the death of a seemingly innocent barmaid. Whoever was driving obviously either intended to take Louise to her mother's, or wanted her to think that's where she was being taken. Somewhere in amongst all of this, someone has walloped Alan over the head and put him in the boot of his own car. My brain hurts."

"And where was he all that time?"

"Who?"

"Alan," said Kate. "We have a period of two hours to account for, so where was Alan's body in that time?"

"In the boot of the car?"

"There would have been more blood. As it was there was hardly any. I didn't see any signs of a struggle, or… " Kate frowned as she thought about the issue. "When the hell did you learn sign language?"

Emma's house - outside

Tired and mentally worn, they had decided to give up for the night, Emma dropped Kate off and drove home. She pulled up to her house and parked up ready to reverse into her drive. As she did so, she checked her rear-view mirror and spotted a couple of figures moving about in the reflection.

"You've got to be kidding me," she said to herself as she picked up her mobile and dialled. "You'll never guess who I've just seen snogging Josie from two doors down."

"The gangly boy?"

"Yeah. Shall I go and knock his teeth out?"

"Scribbs, forget about him. Forego the violence and tell Josie tomorrow, then together you can warn the general female public about him. Why don't you come round and have a drink with me?"

"I'm already home. I think I'll have an early night," Emma yawned as she thought about the various obscenities she could write on the wall of the swimming pool's changing rooms.

"Of course. I'll see you tomorrow, we'll put a bit of pressure on Mr Bettany."

"Ni-night."

Placing her phone back in her pocket, she realised she was once again missing a glove.

Coach Inn - outside

Emma exited the car and remotely locked it, glancing briefly around the area. The car park was not well lit and she was getting the feeling that her search was pointless. As she walked round the side of the Inn, she suddenly became acutely aware of the close proximity of another person. She quickened her pace just a little, clutching her keys in her hand.

"Emma Scribbins? May I have a word?"

Emma hadn't expected to recognise the voice. The figure's shape developed in the darkness. She didn't make the connection with a name until she saw his face. "Mr Teddington? Is that you?"

"I'm impressed you remember your old English teacher."

"Well... er... how are you?" She looked him up and down; he was heavily bearded and wore layer upon layer of sullied clothes. "Not teaching anymore?"

"I took to the open road a long time ago. As you can see I didn't get very far," he smiled.

"Haven't I seen you around? I mean, are you living on the streets?"

"You could say that. Many years ago I went through a moment of catharsis, gave up my worldly possessions and took to the open road. It's very interesting, you know; you see a lot of life. Maybe I'll write a book about it sometime; 'Observer of Suburbia' has a nice ring to it. But I digress, as usual. I wanted to give you some information."

"Information?"

"I see many things, some of which may not seem important to most people. I believe you are investigating the death of Alan Christie?"

"Yeah, that's right." Emma crossed her arms to listen. _'This is surreal,'_ she thought.

"Yesterday morning, I was sitting near the war memorial feeding the pigeons; they are fascinating birds. I saw Alan arguing heatedly with someone; I approached and listened."

"Didn't they see you?"

"If you look as I do then people treat you as near invisible; after all, how could my listening to their conversation be of any consequence to them?"

"I see." Emma sucked on her bottom lip and narrowed her eyes.

"Do you know what Alan worked as before he left Middleford?"

"I think I read he was a nurse or something."

"That's right, but he didn't work in a hospital; he was a respite carer for the terminally ill. That was what the argument was about. One of his patients died in his care."

"Who was it?"

"Terrance Payton's father."

"Terrance? Terry?"

"Yes. An accusation of murder was made and Alan spoke of a mercy killing."

"Thank you. You've been extremely helpful. Look. Can I buy you a drink or something?" she asked, pointing over at the Inn.

"Very kind, but things to do, people to see. Good evening, Emma. " He strode off into the darkness.

"Well that was weird," Emma said to herself.

Terry Payton's House

There was a knock at the door. Terry switched off the television and eased himself up out of his chair.

"Mr Payton. Sorry it's late but can I have a quick word?" asked Emma.

"That's perfectly all right, come in," he replied.

"You never really answered our question of whether you knew Alan Christie."

"Didn't I?"

"No. And you did know him didn't you?" she probed.

"A little."

"More than a little, surely? He was your father's nurse, wasn't he?"

"Yes, yes he was." Terry shifted about uncomfortably in his slippers.

"He must have been a great help through some difficult times." She leant against the back of one of the armchairs.

"I don't really like to talk about it."

Kate's Flat

An ambulance screamed its way down the street outside the building which housed Kate's flat. The book she was reading in the dim light of a table lamp flopped down onto her lap. Her eyes began to close as she drifted off into a cosy slumber.

Terry Payton's house

"Did your father die naturally, Terry?" Emma followed him into the kitchen and watched as he quickly filled and drank a large glass of water.

"What kind of question is that to ask? Of course he did."

"Did you know that Alan Christie was dying?" asked Emma.

"Dying? No, no I didn't. He never said anything about -"

"So you spoke to him."

"No. I mean... yes, briefly."

"Please don't lie to me, Mr Payton, I'm just here to try and find out the truth. Did you see Alan at the memorial yesterday?"

"Yes." Terry looked down.

"And did you see him last night?"

"No, I just saw him in the afternoon. That's all."

"What did you argue about? And don't say you didn't, you were seen."

"I... he came back to Middleford and I saw him and I didn't know what to do." His brow broke into a sweat and he became nervous and edgy.

Emma stood up straighter and crossed her arms, listening intently to what Terry had to say for himself.

"When my father died, there was a hearing. They suspected unnatural causes but a case was never brought to trial. He left after that. I didn't speak to him from that day 'til yesterday."

"Did you suspect he killed your father?" asked Emma calmly.

Terry flinched. "I think you should be going now."

"I'm sorry Terry, but I'm going to have to take you in for questioning."

A flash of panic flew into his eyes and Emma watched as his body language changed and became threatening.

She reached round to her side only to realise that she'd left her handcuff and baton harness in the car. _'Shit,'_ she thought.

"Just a few questions, that's all."

"I won't have you accusing me of things." His hands shook as he walked over to the Welsh dresser and pulled something out of the drawer. "I need some time to think."

"Calm down, Terry," she said as she raised her hands in a surrendering posture.

He held up a rusted World War II revolver. The barrel rattled as he shook. He swallowed hard and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. Using his foot he kicked the threadbare rug aside, revealing a trapdoor. He pulled the iron handle and raised the door; it creaked ominously.

"I'm really sorry," he said, standing up and moving behind her. He searched her pockets, which contained only a single glove, her mobile phone and a set of keys. He took them all and placed them to one side.

"No need to be sorry; just put the gun down," Emma said. She looked down briefly and noticed a large blood stain on the floorboards. A sudden unexpected push to her back sent her onto her knees and down the hole into the dark cellar. She looked up to see the square of light close above her head. Then there was the sound of a heavy object being moved over her only exit.

* * *

**Part 4**

* * *

Terry Payton's cellar

"Now what makes me think he's done this before?" Emma said to herself. She winced as she felt the pain in her ankle and back. Her pupils dilated to take advantage of the cracks of light that entered the room from the street outside, and she glanced round to see where she was. The cellar was musty, the bricks near the floor were full of rising damp and she could feel water soaking into her jeans. She got up as quickly as she could and climbed the stairs to see if she could push the hatch door up with her shoulder. It was stuck tight.

Kate's flat

Kate was asleep and dreaming. A jolt awoke her, she looked around the room, realising that she was on the sofa and still fully dressed. She flipped her jumper sleeve back to look at her watch. Tying her hair up in a ponytail, she got up, put on some shoes and a warm woollen coat. She headed out of the door with the intention of visiting the Coach Inn, wanting to see what kind of thing goes on at this time of night, hoping for a better feel for the area and the visibility at night.

Terry Payton's house

Emma's mobile began to ring. Terry picked it up and looked at the screen. It said 'Ash'. He cancelled the call and let it divert to answer phone.

Coach House - outside

Snow had begun to fall again and formed a crisp frost on everything in sight. Kate stepped out of her car and watched as the clouds passed over the starry sky. Wood smoke filled the air. She inhaled deeply and made for the entrance of the Coach Inn. Her keen eye noticed something lying on the gravel and she bent over to take a closer look. She recognised it as Emma's glove. Sighing to herself, she pocketed it, then entered the bar.

"May I take a quick look at the room you play poker in?" asked Kate, wondering if the room had any exits from which someone could have nipped out for a killing, other than the profitable kind.

"Not a problem," said John from behind the bar, "I'll show you." He offered a hand to her as she climbed down.

Ruthie was already in the room, laying the tablecloth. "I've tried Terry but he's not coming, again," she said as she walked over to John. "We can't play with three. Where's Michael?"

"I might be able to answer that, Ms Fairbairn. Actually sorry, did you say you tried Terry _again_?"

"Yes dear, he normally attends our little evenings."

"I see. Was he due to be here last night?" asked Kate.

"Oh yes. I went round and he said he wasn't feeling up to it."

Kate looked around the room, which was as large as the bar above and was half filled with crates and beer barrels that led up to the pumps. There was also a large round table with several chairs. The walls were clad with thick plaster that was crumbling away near the floor. Kate walked over to one of the walls and held her hand to it, brushing the side of her shoe against an area of damp, disintegrating brick which was thick with salt crystals.

"Whose house is on the other side of this wall?"

Terry Payton's house

Emma could hear movement above and crept up the narrow sideless steps to listen. She could hear muffled voices. The wooden door lifted up and light came flooding in; she found herself temporarily blinded. Before she could think to run for it, she was pushed down the stairs by Kate falling on top of her. Emma had the wind knocked out of her and her throat gave way to an 'oof' sound.

"Scribbs?" Kate murmured as she got up and dusted herself down.

"Now I really do hurt," moaned Emma as Kate helped her up.

They looked up to see the hatchway close again, plunging them into dim light.

"Well, this is great," said Kate, hands flapping down to her sides.

"Have you got your mobile?" asked Emma hopefully.

"No, he took it. Bloody firearms; I hate them."

"Does anyone know you're here?"

"I left a message on your mobile telling you where I was going, but I can now see that was unhelpful. The office know where I am and so do the bar staff next door."

"I'm guessing that means we're stuck here 'til morning then."

"How long have you been down here?" asked Kate.

"Dunno, I've lost track of time. An hour maybe? I did work something out, though."

"That Terry killed Alan?"

"Well, yeah. But I've been thinking, did you know that an anagram of your name is 'shark statue'? Isn't that weird?"

"Did you hit your head? What day is it and who is Prime Minister?" questioned Kate, assuming Emma must have concussion.

"I did but I'm fine. Just sore. Honest."

"You must be cold," said Kate, suddenly noticing how chilly the room was.

"I'm freezing. Stuck down here with not even a glove to my name."

"Oh yes. I found this outside." Kate handed over the woollen glove.

"Oh yay. I'm back to one again," Emma said sarcastically, but was then mildly grateful to be putting it on. "Thanks."

"Did you ring in to say where you were going? If neither of us reports back they might send someone out sooner."

Emma shook her head. "I only came back to get my glove," she said, waving her gloved hand in the air.

"What did I say to you when you were first assigned to work with me?"

"'Oh no, not her'?"

"Hardly," said Kate.

Emma sighed, knowing full well what Kate's first words to her were. "I have three rules about partnerships."

"Trust me and I'll trust you, share information, and always -"

Their words crossed over as Emma joined in to finish the sentence: "Let me know where you're going."

"I know, I know. I should have called you," added Emma. "Look, I don't s'pose you've got your cuff harness on?"

"Yes, I do. He didn't think to check that," she replied, unbuttoning her double-breasted coat.

"Have you still got that little LED light that fits onto your cosh?" asked Emma, hobbling about.

Kate found that she did and using the light at the end of the baton she managed to find a paint-covered metal light switch. "Here goes nothing." The light bulb flickered into life, making a crackling noise. It was a weak light but good enough to see by.

"Would you like me to take a look at your ankle?" Kate nodded towards Emma's foot.

"Yes, please." Emma carefully examined a pile of boxes before sitting down. "Don't want to sit on any spiders."

"They'd probably turn their noses up at this place," Kate said without a hint of a smile as she removed her leather gloves.

Emma sat down and pulled up the leg of her jeans. Kate lifted Emma's foot up so she could unzip her leather boot. "I see you're still into the crazy-coloured socks."

"Makes them easier to pair."

Kate's silver rings brushed against Emma's leg and made her shiver with their coldness."It's just a sprain. Just keep your weight off it."

"Ash, I'm really cold. I'm starting to feel woozy."

Kate sat down and took off her coat, wrapping it around Emma's shoulders. "Here." She put her arm around Emma's back and began rubbing her arm vigorously. Emma placed her head on Kate's shoulder and could smell her subtle perfume, lipstick and a hint of red wine. She found it comforting and almost fell asleep. "No sleeping, not with a head injury. Come on, sit up."

"Have you had a drink tonight?"

"Just a little wine."

"Could you not have brought me some?"

"Scribbs, if I'd known I'd be spending the evening with you I can guarantee I would have brought wine. If I'd known I would be spending the night in a locked cellar of someone I now presume to be the killer of Alan Christie, I'd have brought... " Kate lost her train of thought.

"What?" asked Emma.

"Mm?"

"What you would have brought if you'd known you were going to be spending the night in the cellar -"

"Locked cellar," added Kate.

"Yes, locked cellar, of a killer."

Kate shrugged. "Wine and chocolates, or maybe just a crowbar."

"Well there's a crowbar over there."

"Scribbs, how could you not have mentioned this before?"

"I didn't see it before."

Kate picked it up and attempted to lever open the trapdoor. It wouldn't budge. She looked around and spotted an area in the wall that was particularly corroded. "Looks like Alan already had a good go at the wall, trying to break through into the inn's cellar next door. He didn't get far. There's a great deal of dried blood here; he probably died trying to signal his presence." Kate began digging away at the mortar and bashed at the loose lumps of brick. After a long while of digging and bashing, a small pin point of light came flooding in.

"Hello?" she called through.

They both crouched down at either side of the hole and listened.

"Hello?" came a small reply.

"Thank God for that," Kate muttered as she gave a sigh of relief. She relayed all of the required information to the gaggle of tipsy poker players next door.

Emma's head began to dip as she became drowsy. "No you don't." Kate lifted Emma's head. "You have to keep awake; keep talking to me."

"I'm so cold."

"Um, right." Kate stepped over the boxes and nestled in behind Emma. Putting her legs either side of Emma's, she wrapped her arms around her to become a human blanket.

Emma leant back, her back still sore from the fall. "What made you come here, anyway?" she asked.

"I fell asleep on the sofa and was dreaming about the case, and when I woke up I decided to take a look at the area at night."

"Was I in your dream?"

"Yes, you usually are," said Kate flatly.

"Really?" asked Emma, surprised.

"You're the one person I'm with more than I'm without."

"I've never really thought about that. Tell me about your dream."

"Why?" asked Kate.

"Because it could be ages before uniform drag their way over to let us out. Go on."

"All right then. It was some sort of talent show and it was taking place at the Coach Inn bar. John Phillips was doing his mime act, Terry Payton was driving round on a tiny toy car -"

Emma interrupted, "I wouldn't have put you down as a cryptic dream person."

Kate made a face and continued: "And I was a magician."

"What was I?"

"You were my assistant."

"You do think I'm the sidekick!"

"No I don't. Is that why you approached Terry on your own?"

The room was flooded with light. Kate shielded her eyes with her hand, while Emma just squinted.

"Hel-lo, ladies. Sorry to disturb," called John in a Leslie Phillips manner when he saw Kate enfolded around Emma.

"Typical," said Kate quietly as she helped Emma up. "I thought I said to call for police assistance. Terrance Payton is potentially a very dangerous man," she called up.

"His car's not there so we thought you wouldn't mind if we broke in," said John with a big grin on his face.

Highgate Road

"I'm fine, all woken up, let's go. Look, two gloves." Emma waggled her gloved fingers in the air. "I think I have an idea where he might have gone; I just need to make one call," she said keenly, perking up.

"It's getting really late. Let someone else search for him," said Kate.

"C'mon, Ash. Don't you want to know what happened?"

Kate sighed. "Very well. So where do you think he's gone, then?"

"I'll explain on the way."

Kate slid her way in front of Emma to take her place by the driver's side of the car, "Okay, but I'm driving. We don't want any more accidents."

Lowgate Cemetery

"It's that plot over there," said Emma, pointing to a large oak tree. "Yes! There he is."

"Well done, Scribbs. You were completely right. I'll grab him and you disarm him."

"One. Two. Three. Go." They apprehended Terry easily. He looked dejected and almost began to cry. Kate cuffed him.

Terry sat down on a monument near his father's grave. "I never meant to hurt him. When he came round that night, there was no fear in his eyes. He said such terrible things."

"I got it wrong, didn't I, Terry?" asked Emma patiently. "You didn't accuse him of killing your father; he was accusing you."

"I couldn't have him saying such things. I didn't mean to kill Alan. I shoved him and he fell against the table. I didn't know what to do so I pushed him down into the cellar. I had to think. When I checked on him he was dead. It was an accident, I swear."

"What about Louise? How did her death come about?" Kate asked inquisitively.

"You never realise how strong you can be until sheer panic sets in. I dragged Alan to his car and put him in the boot. I closed up and Louise came storming out of the inn. She was upset about something and seemed so pleased to see me. She pointed at the car and asked if I would give her a lift. I couldn't say no. So we took the car. She rambled on for a while but then she caught sight of my gloves and the blood on my sleeve. She panicked and started screaming at me to let her out of the car. When I tried to stop, the brakes wouldn't work and she thought I was holding her hostage. She took off her belt and grabbed the wheel. I lost control and we slid into a tree. My belt saved me but she went into the windscreen. I thought it could all be a way out. I put Alan in the driver's seat and thought that maybe, just maybe, it would look like just another car accident."

Emma looked down at the floor and pressed her lips together, arms crossed.

"And did you steer the car down the side lane?" asked Kate.

"Side lane? No, I left the car where we crashed," he looked distinctly confused. Emma placed a hand on his shoulder. Two officers flanked Kate and she nodded to them. They took Terry by the arms and escorted him away.

"So how do you think the car and Louise got to be where they were?" asked Emma as she linked her arm through Kate's.

"I don't think Terry was lying. It's quite possible that with all the snow, the car slid back down the lane and stopped when it hit a tree. Louise must have recovered enough to regain consciousness for just a while. I expect the shock of seeing Alan in the seat beside her made her leave the car and run as far as she could."

"I think that knock to the head did you a bit of good," said Kate. Emma held onto her shoulder as she limped along. "Not bad for a day's work.

"A really, really long day's work. Hey, good news though, Sullivan owes us both a drink," grinned Emma.

"Thank goodness for small mercies." Kate frowned and suddenly said, "Wouldn't 'astute shark' be more appropriate?"

"What?" asked Emma.

"Anagram of my name."

"Astute shark. See - that's why I'm the sidekick."

"You _are_ not, never _have_ been, never _will_ be my sidekick!" exclaimed Kate. "You're just my subordinate," she said with a smirk.

"Hey!" exclaimed Emma as she pushed Kate away by the shoulder and consequently lost her balance. She slotted her arm back through Kate's as they walked off, laughing into the night.


	2. Lost and Found

Christian placed the halogen lantern on the ground at the site of excavation and jumped into the channel that had been cut into the earth. He worked steadily on the east side, pulling and digging at the soil in a way uncharacteristic of an archaeologist. Burrowing like an animal searching for food, he eventually found what he was looking for and used a thick-bristled brush to clear the area of soil. He reached up for the lantern but a foot pressed down hard on his fingers; he pulled them away and turned in time to see the light fly towards his head. The lantern clunked to the ground, illuminating the base of the trench. Christian touched the wound in his forehead; his hand came away covered thickly with blood. Air rushed against his face; the hard rubber sole of a shoe cracked against his jaw. His body swung unwillingly to the right and he fell onto his hip. With blood in his eyes he blindly fumbled on the ground, found what he was searching for and surreptitiously pocketed it. The figure jumped down into the trench. Christian watched the dim light of the lantern move away and then switch off, plunging him into darkness as he fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

**Part 1**

* * *

Sullivan's office

Kate left in a huff. Emma remained to ask a question.

"Boss, is this wise?

"I happen to think it will be character building; Ash could do with something like this to... soften her up a bit," said Sullivan.

"And you don't think that, perhaps, it might make her even more uptight?"

"She's a grown woman, Scribbs."

"That's what worries me." With that, Emma scooted out of the office and caught up with her partner.

"Nobody else, he said. Nobody else, my arse," Kate said to her in an agitated tone of voice.

"I'm sure he wasn't lying when he said it clashed with that PCSO event, and you know that Maureen's off sick."

"Talk about short straw." Kate quickly trotted down the stairs; Emma followed. "He still hasn't forgiven me for kissing him in front of everyone, has he?"

"Actually, Ash, I don't think he was that bothered about -"

"Petty-minded little... argh. Let's get this over and done with." They grabbed their coats and headed out of the door.

Blackheath School

"Any final questions?" The group of five to eight year olds all sat cross-legged and stared back at Kate as she loomed over them.

One of the older boys at the back raised his arm. "Why don't you have a uniform?"

A younger boy coughed noisily by Kate's feet, and she grimaced. "My colleague and I are detectives and the department we work for does not require us to wear uniforms. I am a detective inspector." She hoped to impress them with her title.

The boy looked back at her with a confused and disappointed face. "Like, like Inspector Gadget?" he asked breathlessly.

"My god, do they still show that?" Kate muttered under her breath. "You could say that. I have fewer things up my sleeve though, ha."

No response came from her small audience.

"Ahem. Okay. Any questions about what we've been talking about today? About _strangers_." She said the word so slowly as to almost be patronising. "Don't be shy."

A girl sitting beside the coughing boy sneezed and then drew her knees up, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her burgundy jumper. "What does bollicks mean?" she asked in a small voice.

Kate's eyes widened and she swallowed so hard it hurt.

Emma stood against the wall and tried to stifle a giggle.

"Any questions about what you've been hearing about today?" asked Kate, clapping her hands together.

"You and the other lady, when you came in, I heard you say to her -" the child offered again.

Emma ran over to save Kate. "I think you must've heard Inspector Ashurst sneeze. I think she's getting a cold. Aren't you?"

"What? Oh yes. A cold." She pretended to sneeze into her hand to prove a point.

"Right. Who wants a sticker?" asked Emma enthusiastically. All hands flew up into the air.

School car park

"Well I don't know about you but I am completely genned up on 'stranger danger' now," said Emma as she twirled her keys round her finger and deftly skipped her way around a large puddle.

Kate flashed a glare at Emma and grasped her by the shoulders. "Never let them make me do that again."

"Promise." Emma gave a Brownie salute. "C'mon, Miss Hardbroom."

They got in the car and set off for the station. Kate began to perk up as soon as the engine started. Emma released the handbrake and manoeuvred out of the school gates.

"Guess who called last night," said Kate.

"Your mum," replied Emma.

"Well yes, because it was Thursday, but I don't mean her."

"Who then?"

"Do you recall the Callum McCourt court case?"

"Tongue twister. I do. Three weeks we spent gathering evidence for that case, only for it to be dismissed on a technicality thanks to that git of a defense lawyer, Daniel. I assume it was him asking you out on a date."

"How did you know?" Kate looked disheartened at her guessing game being cut short.

Emma took a deep breath. "Well, a) you spent half the trial batting your eyelashes at him, b) it couldn't be the prosecution lawyer because he was gay, and c) - you've got his name written on that folder with a time next to it and a small drawing of a stick man in a barrister's wig." She pointed at the pile of papers on Kate's lap.

"Oh." Kate wrinkled her nose. "How did you know he was gay?"

Emma was distracted by the vehicle diversion for the archaeological dig taking place nearby. "Who?"

"The prosecution."

Emma drew another deep breath. "When I dropped those files and you bent over to pick them up, everyone was looking at your bum. Apart from him."

Kate looked flattered. "That doesn't mean he's gay."

"He was looking at Daniel's bum. Well, that, and he told me that he'd just split up with his boyfriend."

"Why don't people talk to me about things like that? Am I not approachable?"

Emma avoided the question. "Don't go out with Daniel; he's a shyster."

"He wasn't that bad."

"Three weeks' work, Ash."

"He's just good at his job. Annoyingly so."

They stopped at traffic lights and rain began to batter against the car windows. Kate sneezed.

"Are you coming down with something?" asked Emma.

"I don't do ill," stated Kate sternly as she gazed out of the window at the impending storm clouds.

Emma stared at her mobile in its dashboard holster. "Come o_n_," she whined.

"Come o_n_, what?"

"I'm bored with paperwork; there's been nothing else to do lately. I want something proper for us to investigate."

"Be careful what you wish for, Scribbs." Kate caught Emma's eye, but their attentions were suddenly diverted when the phone began to ring.

Excavation site

"My husband is dead - I don't think you know what this is like for me," shrieked Perdita Jones, a shortish woman in her late twenties with piercing eyes and jet black hair. She stamped her foot on the ground, splashing droplets of mud onto her cropped khaki trousers.

"Madam, please calm down. We appreciate that this must be incredibly hard for you." Kate stepped forward, holding up her hands in a submissive posture in an attempt to mollify her.

"_Appreciate_?" Perdita repeated incredulously. "Have _you_ just found your husband b_ludge_oned to death?" Her colleague, Tariq, held onto her shoulders in an attempt to stop her advancing on Kate and Emma.

"Perhaps we should talk to you later, Mrs Jones," said Emma.

"Yes, I think that would be wise," she responded through gritted teeth.

They stepped away quietly to let Perdita continue her hour of angry grief.

"People deal with death in so many different ways," said Kate.

"I kind of admire her for not trying to cover up how she's feeling," said Emma. "I'd never be brave enough to shout at you."

Portacabin

Kate and Emma set up an interview room in the archaeologists' portacabin office. First up was Tanya VanGeene. She sat opposite them in her fashionably layered clothes and mud-clad boots. She pulled her glossy red-dyed curly hair back into a ponytail, and removed her black thick-framed glasses to rub them clean using the hem of her t-shirt.

"I can't believe she's acting this way. I mean, yes, it's horrifying, but you're only here to help, aren't you? O'course we're all distraught about Christian's death."

"And what was your impression of their relationship?" asked Kate.

"Fiery. Hot-tempered. My Rob would know better as he's good friends with both of them."

* * *

Rob Fairfield was a young man with three days' worth of stubble and a messy head of hair under a dirty-looking bucket hat.

"Christian used to rub people up the wrong way a lot. Don't get me wrong; he was a mate, but he was the kind of guy who thought he knew best and he was always preaching to people."

"About what, religion?" asked Emma.

"Oh no, he wasn't religious - I mean about politics and the environment. It was all well and good and sometimes I totally agreed with him, but it used to grate on people sometimes. He liked to get his way. Tariq, for instance, would have none of it."

* * *

Tariq Gaber slumped back across the office-style armchair and ran his fingers through his dark foppish hair.

"It's true, we weren't the best of friends, but he was okay; he was fine. We didn't bother each other. He knew I wasn't going to take his crap. He's a digger, I'm a scanner - I do the geophysical stuff and pc recreations. We didn't talk much outside work."

"Do you think Mrs Jones will be ready to talk to us soon?" asked Emma.

"Oooh, I dunno. She's in total shock and will probably bite your head off again. Doesn't help that she found his body in the trench she'd been working on. That's well nasty."

"So she's an archaeologist too."

"Yeah. That's how they met, studying it at uni together. If they'd ever've had babies they would've had them in there digging stuff up too."

Emma smiled to herself at the thought of it.

"We'll be needing records of this site's unearthed items. Can you provide us with that?" asked Kate.

Tariq nodded. "Yeah, no problem, we've got it all databased."

"We'll bring someone in to cross reference, to see if there's anything missing," said Emma.

"I doubt anything was worth stealing. We find interesting stuff, not buried treasure."

Building site

The rain stopped drizzling and the clouds parted.

Kate waved her finger at the various builders who were pulling their t-shirts off. "Any hint of sunshine and Britain's out there taking its top off. Don't they realise it's still winter?"

A suited man approached them. "Excuse me ladies, but you'll need to wear hard hats in this area. I must insist." They took the hats without argument. "Excellent, now - how may I be of assistance?" Derek, the council's construction site overseer, was a tall, broad man with soft blue eyes. Despite being more than ten years Kate and Emma's senior they both found him extremely handsome. In their eagerness to introduce themselves, they spoke over each other. Derek simply smiled. "Delighted to meet you both."

Kate jumped in first. "We understand that you had dealings with the deceased?"

"As soon as the digs are complete we can start work on the new communal area. Mr Jones and I met a couple of times in meetings - that about sums it up. He wanted to extend the dig time by three to four weeks but we at the council simply couldn't agree to that time scale. I suppose now that the area's a crime scene he got his wish."

"Have you or any of your workers noticed anyone lurking about the place?" asked Emma.

"Far too many, to be honest. Kids like to drink on the site, so we're constantly having to gather up old alcopop bottles. Youths of today, eh?"

"Quite," replied Kate, smiling at him.

* * *

"He's mine," said Kate quite abruptly as they left the site.

"What do you mean _'he's mine_'? He's definitely mine."

"He's too old for you, Scribbs."

"Oh, because you're _so_ much older than me. Besides, don't you have a date tonight?"

"Minor issue."

CID Office

Emma gingerly sorted through the possessions which had been recovered from the body of Christian Jones. Among the items were a wallet, a watch, a bracelet, keys, a wedding ring, scraps of notepaper, and a delicate time-corroded human finger bone. Emma held the bone up to the light using a pair of tweezers.

"There's blood on it," she noted.

"The report says that it's Christian's blood only," remarked Kate without looking up.

"And it's not one of his own?"

"Not that you'd carry one of your own fingers bones around, but no, all digits complete and accounted for."

"Okay. You're an archaeologist and someone's just battered you over the head with a blunt instrument. Why is your first instinct to put an old bone in your pocket?"

"Force of habit?"

"Is it very old?" asked Emma.

"Been buried thirty years or so. They've examined the area and found no other matching bones."

"Maybe he already had it on him."

Sullivan sauntered into the office. "I've got some news for you, ladies - the collection is down one gold coin; Roman by the looks of it. I suggest you have a word with one of the archaeologists to see if they can shed any light on its worth. Could be our motive." He nodded towards the window. "You'd better get back out there." Outside, rain was streaming down, cascading from gutters and batting off car roofs.

Kate and Emma both grimaced.

Portacabin entrance

Carrying a much-needed umbrella, Emma walked over to Rob and squinted to see the slogan on his t-shirt. She pointed and read it aloud. "Archaeologists do it in the dirt."

Rob looked up from his own chest and pointed back at her, jokily saying, "Detectives do it undercover."

Kate listened as she approached the two of them and added, "Police officers do it with handcuffs. What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Emma smirked and turned back to Rob. "We need you to take a look at a coin in your database and tell us what you know about it."

* * *

"Would any of your colleagues have taken it for their own private collections, or to sell on?" asked Kate.

"We're not exactly relic hunters, Inspector, just historians," replied Rob.

"Coins aren't worth much, are they?" asked Emma.

"Generally worthless, nothing particularly special, but very useful for dating."

"Dating?"

"Yes, as in, determining the era," he responded curtly.

"Oh yeah. Sorry." Emma scrunched up her nose and felt silly.

"Let's face it, you don't sign up for a career in archaeology for the company car," said Rob.

"It might be precious to someone though," said Kate, examining the picture on screen.

"Put it this way, then, if any of us took it we would know full well how to cover our tracks."

"Is that an admission, Mr Fairfield?"

"Just being honest."

"What about access to this place?" asked Emma.

"The cabin is always locked at nights but open during the day when we're around. Christian, Tariq, the council and I have a key. We have numerous people coming and going; paid and voluntary workers. It's an open house as far as we're concerned. First one in opens up. Last one to go closes up."

"And who would that have been on the day that Christian died?"

"That was me," he admitted.

"And where did you go that night?"

"Party in Islington. Didn't get back 'til 3am."

Council office entrance

Malcolm waved his clipboard at Kate and Emma.

"Hello, hello, be with you in two ticks." He finished talking to a staff member wearing a reflective jacket. "Delightful to meet you, simply delightful." He shook their hands. "How may I be of assistance? I suppose you're here about the dead chappy. Yes, you must be. My name is Trowbridge, Malcolm Trowbridge. You probably know that. I facilitate land projects and such things. I work in that building over there. Look, see, ground floor, window at the end, you can just see my ficus plant. That's little old me."

Kate opened her mouth to speak.

"Oh, yes, the dead boy. Frightful isn't it? Makes one terribly fearful to go out at night. I can let you have all the details you need; places and whatnots. Do you need them? I'm being presumptuous again. Mr Jones, yes - nice enough man. I took him to be one of those earth-loving types that you hear of. I don't know really; I don't come across them much - I mostly deal with _suits_." He made speech marks with his fingers and snorted. "This area's been dug over before, but as I understand it the technology is much better now. Not that I would know a trowel from Adam. Oh, I'm so glad you're investigating this case; you've been so lovely to talk to." He checked his watch. "Well, I'd best be off. I've got a meeting. It's three hours long and it's the same every week, but they have terribly good biscuits. I'm usually around for a chat, any time. TTFN." He sped off in the direction of the offices, reading his clipboard as he went.

Emma looked quizzically at her notebook.

"What have you written down?" asked Kate.

"Biscuits."

Excavation site

Perdita sat with legs dangling into a trench, lost in thought. Clearly undaunted by the weather, she sat in mud with rain running down her face. She wiped a sleeve across her eyes.

"I'm ready to talk to you now," she said, as Kate and Emma approached.

"Thank you, Mrs Jones," replied Kate. "We need to know a few details. Firstly, at what time did you discover the body of your husband?"

"I arrived on site about eight as normal. First one here. I picked up my tools from the cabin, set things up and went over to the trench I was working on." She pointed at the area of the dig site that was now surrounded by police tape. Emotion caught her voice as she said." He was soaked through from the rain; he looked so twisted and awful".

"Was there anyone else on site at the time?"

"Just me and a few passers-by."

"What time did you last see him alive?" asked Emma.

"He left the house at about quarter past eleven in the evening, said he was going to do something that he didn't want me to get involved in. I begged him to tell me what he was doing but he wouldn't let on. He just said that he didn't want me to get hurt. Now I'll never know."

"Did you follow him?"

"No, I stayed at the house."

"Do you have any idea why Christian was at the dig site so late?" queried Kate.

"All I know is that he wasn't excavating; there were no tools with him."

"Were you the last person to see Christian alive?"

"I would think that the last person to see him alive would have been his killer, don't you?" Perdita responded, once again scowling.

* * *

**Part 2**

* * *

Franco's restaurant

The date had begun promisingly: Daniel was as handsome as Kate remembered him, if not more so. She blushed significantly when they met and he kissed her cheek. She found him very formal in his immaculate suit, pinstriped white collared shirt and silk tie.

"Any interesting cases?" Kate asked between mouthfuls.

"I can't really talk about that," he said.

"We've got a murder at the moment -"

"I assume you shouldn't be talking about your cases either, Kate," he rebuked.

"Oh yes, of course, yes... is your practice far from here?"

"Directly opposite, actually. We bring lots of clients here."

"Ah, how convenient." She mentally knocked a few points from his score for taking her to a restaurant where he brings the criminals he has defended.

"I'm really pleased you agreed to come out to dinner tonight." Daniel smiled widely.

"My pleasure." Kate smiled, placed her elbows on the table and propped her chin up. "My colleague said that I shouldn't meet up with you."

"Oh yes, how come?" he asked as he took a swig of wine.

"She said that I shouldn't trust you."

"Why would that be?"

"Because you cleverly convinced the court to throw out all the evidence we'd gathered."

He laughed. "Is this the Scribbins woman?"

Kate nodded. "Mm-hm."

"Bitter, was she? I can't help it if I'm good at what I do," he scoffed.

"That's what I said."

"You should find yourself a new partner; someone who can match your obvious intellect."

"I'm perfectly happy with the partner I have, thank you." Kate said as she sipped her wine.

He chuckled again. "Well, she just seemed like an ignoramus to me."

Kate almost choked on her drink as it went down the wrong way. She coughed.

Daniel clicked his fingers in the air. "Waitress, a little water? Please?"

After her small coughing fit, Kate sneezed a few times and covered her nose with a napkin. She was about to reply to his earlier comment when he spoke.

"You're not coming down with something, are you?"

"I think I might have caught a cold. You see, we had to visit a school this morning and -"

"Cheque please," said Daniel to the waitress, writing with an imaginary pen on the palm of his hand. He quickly picked up a napkin and covered his nose and mouth. "I'm sorry, but I'm sure you understand - I can't be ill, simply not viable, not in my line of work."

Police station entrance

Bernard Whitely entered the station and slowly walked over to the reception desk. He then sat, waiting patiently for the desk sergeant to finish taking details of a missing bicycle.

"How can I help you, sir?" asked the officer.

He stood up, blinked his tired old eyes, took off his cap and turned it in his hands. "I believe I have some useful information about the murder of Christian Jones."

CID office

"You'd think I had the bloody plague," said Kate.

"No goodnight kiss then?" asked Emma, smirking.

"Not even a dessert. It would have never worked anyway; he was a pocket change jangler. Plus I didn't like the way he..."

Emma leant forward to listen more closely. "Yea? Go on. What else didn't you like about him?"

"Never mind." She waved Emma away and shook her head. "You're obviously revelling in my awful date so let's get on."

"I wish I'd been there," Emma laughed.

Kate made a face at her.

"What?" She stifled a giggle. "We could've had pudding."

"Someone to see you about the death you're investigating, Ma'am," interrupted the desk sergeant. "Insisted on speaking directly to an investigating officer."

"Thanks." Kate turned to Bernard. "Good morning, sir. How can we be of assistance?"

"Is it Inspector Ashurst?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Perdita described you very well."

"I see. Mr...?" She bit her lip and wondered exactly how she had been described.

"Whitely. Bernard Whitely. Oh, and you must be Sergeant Scribbins."

Emma shook his hand. "Nice to meet you. How can we help, Mr Whitely?"

"Well, I have reason to believe I was the last person to see Christian before he died."

CID Interview Room 3

Upon entering the room, Bernard he eased himself down into the plastic bucket chair.

"Anything you can recall about the night of Christian's death would be of use, Mr Whitely," explained Kate.

"My house is directly beside the Square, you see; my bedroom overlooks the digs. On the night it happened, a clanking noise woke me. I got out of bed. It was as dark as pitch; I had to turn the light on to see my way to the window. We've had a bit of bother with youngsters hanging about drinking, so I keep records of what I see for the Neighbourhood Watch." He held aloft a little leather bound book, tapped it with his free and hand then placed it on the table between them.

"Did you see any such people that night?"

"I didn't. There was just Christian. I recognised his coat; he was hunched down in a trench, digging away."

"I thought you said it was pitch black. How could you see him?" asked Emma, with a doubt in her voice.

"He had one of those portable lanterns and my eyesight really is good, considering my age."

"What happened next?" asked Kate.

"Well, assuming he was just working off some energy, I thought I'd let him be. So I went back to bed."

"Well that's been really useful, Mr -"

He cut Kate off. "But then I woke up again. Again with a noise, louder this time. I went back to the window and I couldn't see anything. The lantern had been turned off."

"So then you went back to bed?"

"No, so then I got my coat and boots on and went back out to see where he'd gone."

"Didn't you consider it a bit risky to go outside - what with the history of yobs in the area?" asked Emma from across the table.

"Once a bobby -"

"You were in the force?" asked Emma,interested.

"Superintendent before I retired in the eighties. After that they put up a new building and our old station on Walker Street got turned into a pub."

"Walker Street? Oh - The Blue Lamp!"

"That's the one."

"Well I never. I wondered why I could never relax in there," Emma said as she turned to shrug at Kate.

Kate rolled her eyes and coughed. "What then? After you went out?"

"Not a lot really. I saw a figure moving off into the shadows and at the time I thought it was him."

"Thought? So what made you change your mind?"

"The time of death."

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't understand." She drew up a chair beside Emma, who was sitting opposite Bernard.

"You have the time of death down as 11.45pm, don't you?"

"But how...?" Emma began. "The details haven't been released to the press yet."

"Once a bobby..."

"Hm." Kate looked disgruntled. "I'm sorry, but can we start from the beginning? I'm a bit lost as to how you know Christian Jones and his wife in the first place."

"That's easy. Perdita is my granddaughter. They were both staying with me at the house."

Emma's car

"They should put up a sign," remarked Kate as they drove out of Middleford and into rural landscapes.

"Saying what?" asked Emma.

"You are now leaving suburbia. Beware tractors and farm smells." Kate wrinkled her nose and swiftly wound up the window.

"I like the countryside. Besides, I would have thought that you'd be at home here in the fields and whatnot."

"Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Your mum."

"In what way?" asked Kate, bemused.

"She said you liked camping."

"I highly doubt that she did," Kate shrugged.

"No, really. She said to me, 'As a teenager, Kate was always in tents'."

Kate looked confused for a second and then fathomed the mistake. "Intense. Intense!" she said with wide eyes.

A look of realisation came over Emma's face. "Oh. Y'know, that makes _so_ much more sense."

Oakdale Farm

"Ever taken a roll in the hay, Ash?" asked Emma cheekily as they walked up the dirt track.

Kate smirked, eyes shining.

"Can I help you, ladies?" asked a stocky old man, thick with layers of clothing, woollen jumper and wax jacket.

Kate bit her lip to stop herself smiling. "Good morning, sir. Are you Mr Alec Jones?"

"Yes. Are you more police?" he asked with a country accent.

"Yes. We're sorry to have to disturb you at such a difficult time."

"So you should be." He turned, began to walk back to the house and they followed. "Trampling all over my land. Disturbing my peace. You people and your ways, your block paving and coffee shops..." They failed to hear the rest as he stomped through the side door of the cosy hay-scented farmhouse kitchen.

"Block paving?" Kate and Emma mouthed to each other as they approached the doorway and stopped before entering.

Alec poked his head back out of the door. "You coming in, then?"

"He lived here when he wasn't at the university or on a dig. Helped out on the farm when he could. He was a good boy, was Christian. Perdita helped out too; they didn't like to be apart."

"Did Christian have any brothers or sisters?" asked Emma.

"I have seven children, four of them boys. He was the middle child. I never see the others. They all moved away as soon as they could to go off to work in the cities, all in high-flying jobs. I only had Christian, now what have I got? Ask for help from the rest of my children and they'd just send a bloody cheque in the post. It is an insult."

"Could you tell us about Christian's relationship with his wife?" asked Kate.

"You know when two people seem so different, but at the same time they're so well suited?" Kate and Emma glanced at each other momentarily. "They fought a lot, I'll say that, but they loved each other, of that I'm certain. They bickered constantly but they always made it up in the end."

"Is your wife no longer with us?" Emma picked up a family photo.

"She was killed many years ago by thugs. They were never caught. It was back in the '80s when being married to a black man made you a target." He paused to hold his chest. "Please don't tell me that Christian's death was a hate crime. I don't think I could take it."

Emma knitted her brow, leant forward in her chair and held his hand. "I promise you that we will track down your son's killer," she said earnestly.

Malcolm Trowbridge's office

"Mr and Mrs Jones were very keen to take on the project regardless of the opposition it faced," Malcolm explained.

"Opposition? From whom?" asked Emma.

"Oh yes indeed. Have you not read about it in the paper? Many of the council's staff and local politicians felt that it was too much like _digging over old ground_." He made speech marks with his fingers over the phrase.

"Must've missed that bit."

"You can see the upheaval caused to the traffic system. Even our own staff have to park in the back of Sainsbury's. Not to mention the letters written in to the local rag from members of the public." He continued, quoting a few examples. "'Inconvenience to the public right of way.' 'Wouldn't the money be better spent elsewhere?' That kind of thing."

Emma took down a few notes in her pad.

Kate perked up with a thought that sprang to mind. "But isn't it normal procedure to excavate an area of historical interest before building work can take place?"

"That is the norm, yes, but that was half the problem; there's already been digs on this site - they took place in the seventies."

Kate sneezed into a tissue, looking bleary-eyed. "Do excuse me, I seem to be developing a slight cold." She got up and exited the room.

"This seventies dig," continued Emma. "Was there any controversy over that one?"

"I've got a box file with information about it, if you'd like?"

"Yea, that would be great, thanks."

Malcolm's hand flew to his lips. "Oh, I forgot; Mr Jones borrowed it."

CID office

"So we have opposition from some of the council staff and members of the public; add to that the missing coin. Numerous suspects, most of whom will all claim to have been tucked up in bed at the time." Kate sneezed twice, hid her face in a tissue and tried blindly to Blu-tack pictures to the white board, next to a drawing of a lantern and a big question mark.

"Is she alright, do you think?" Sullivan asked Emma.

Emma scrunched up her face. "I don't think she knows when she's reached her limit."

Kate proceeded to sneeze a further five times.

"That's one away from a full orgasm," said Emma.

Kate walked over to them and raised a hand to her brow.

"Ash, you should go home," said Sullivan in a concerned manner.

"I'm fine," she said breathlessly as she moved her fingertips to the bridge of her nose and pinched. Without warning her knees gave way a little and she swooned forwards. Sullivan caught her under the arms.

Emma placed a hand comfortingly on Kate's back. "I'll take her home, boss, don't worry." She moved her arm and supported Kate around her waist. "Come on, soldier."

"I'm fine, really," said Kate as she was ushered out of the door by Emma.

"Yes, course you are."

* * *

**Part 3**

* * *

Kate's flat

Kate, followed by Emma, stumbled through the door and placed her back against the wall. "I don't think I'm well you know."

"Come on, jacket off." Emma pushed at the lapels of Kate's suit jacket and slid it off her shoulders.

"I need to hang that up."

Emma rolled her eyes. "I'll do it." She held Kate by the hand and pulled her through into the bedroom. "Into bed with you." Kate sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. "Arms up." Kate obliged and Emma pulled off Kate's cream-coloured tank top and began unbuttoning her shirt.

"My, you're forward." Kate laughed to herself then blinked. "I think I'm delirious." She sat droopily on the edge of the bed in her lace-trimmed camisole and suit trousers.

Emma peered behind Kate's head, not knowing where to start. "Is there a release catch for your hair or something?"

Kate reached back and unravelled her thick, dark hair, which bounced down onto her shoulders.

"Oh, okay, there was," Emma said, surprised. She brushed Kate's fringe aside and placed her hand upon her forehead, noting its warmth. "You get your night things on and I'll make you a drink."

After a few minutes she returned to find Kate curled up, fast asleep on top of the covers, clothes still on. Emma smiled to herself and folded the duvet over the sleeping Kate.

* * *

"What's all this?" asked Kate, who emerged into the sitting-cum-dining room wrapped in a robe.

"Ah, you're up. Feeling any better?"

"A little, thanks."

"I'll make you that drink." Emma rose.

Kate examined the table: it was covered with stacks of books and various kitchen items, such as eggcups and little bottles of food colouring. Kate held aloft the peppermint essence bottle and asked, "what's this for?"

"Not what, who!" called Emma from the kitchenette.

Kate looked back to the table and realised what she was looking at: a model of the crime scene and surrounding buildings. "Good to see you weren't bored. I hope you're going put everything back."

"Here you go." Emma came back and handed Kate a mug.

"Thanks. Is it safe?" She sipped at it cautiously. "Not bad. What's in it?"

"Honey, lemon tea, ginger and brandy," responded Emma, counting out the items on her fingers.

"Now, why doesn't it surprise me that you're good at mixing drinks?"

Emma caught the backhanded compliment and smiled. She turned back to her reconstruction. "I couldn't really visualise all the plans so I thought I'd make a 3D layout of the area."

"And what information have you garnered from this impressive exercise?" Kate mumbled as she held a tissue to her nose.

"Well. Firstly, Bernard's house is here, and the trench Christian was found dead in is here. Right?

"Right." Kate surveyed the area as she drank deeply from her mug.

"Well, that trench is completely out of the view of his house. There is no way he would be able to see it from his bedroom. However, there is one trench in direct view - this one." She jabbed her finger onto the table. "So, scenario. Christian is attacked in this trench. He then either moves or is moved to the other trench." Emma's eyes gleamed.

"There's more, isn't there?"

Emma nodded excitedly. "I've been looking at the plans from the last excavation, which I found in the portacabin on the site, and I've marked the original 1970s trenches out here, here and here. Now... Bernard was here."

She took the peppermint bottle from Kate's hand and placed it back on a pile of books. "And he said that Christian was here, facing away from him. So we would presume he was about here. Any closer and he would be out of Bernard's view as it's too close to the house. Right?"

"Right."

"And what do you notice about this area?"

Kate studied it. "A trench from the first digs and this recent one overlap."

"I think Christian found something; something the murderer didn't want us to find either."

"Good work, Scribbs. I'm impressed. You should get on to the station."

"I have. They're getting a permit to dig up the area now."

Excavation site

"We've got something, Sarge. Looks like a complete human skeleton," said a young officer.

"That's great. Let me know when I can take a look." Emma crossed her arms and watched the JCB digger pull away the earth.

"Can't you let us do it?" asked Tariq with a distinctly panicked look on his face.

"Trust me, this isn't the first body we've dug up," said Emma cockily.

"It's not the body I'm worried about, it's the centuries of history your guys are mashing into the ground."

The suited and Wellington-booted Derek wandered over. "Found anything good?" he asked.

"Oh, hello." Emma turned and suddenly noticed who it was standing behind her.

"Your colleague not here?" he asked, looking around.

"No, she's at home ill until this afternoon. I'm here though. If you'd like to go for a dri-." She attempted to charm him.

"I don't suppose you could give me her number? I know you're in the middle of a murder case and everything but..."

"Oh... yea, no problem." She pulled their calling card out of her pocket and wrote Kate's home number on the back.

"Thanks. Do you think she'd be up to a quiet date tonight?"

"Definitely."

"Brilliant. Look, I'll see you later."

Tariq decided it was his time to give his opinion. "What a wanker," he said, shaking his head.

"Huh? He seemed alright to me. What's up with him?" She became increasingly concerned.

"Why would you still work if you were as rich as he is?"

"Rich?"

"Won the Pools, didn't he? Bought a massive house, cars, everything, and yet he still works. Rubbing our noses in it."

"Oh great, that's Ash lost to the league of rich wives, then."

"Wha?"

"Oh, nothing. Remind me, where were you the night Christian died?"

CID Interview Room 1

Rob sat in the plastic interview seat and twiddled his thumbs. Emma sat opposite.

"You seemed pretty keen to direct our attentions away from yourself as a possible thief of the coin."

"I've told you before, anyone can get in and access our stuff." He narrowed his eyes. "Have you worked out how much it's worth yet?"

"You sure you don't know already?" she asked.

"Scout's honour."

"Black market - 'bout two thousand."

Rob whistled through his teeth. "That's a pretty penny."

"Good enough reason to murder Christian?"

"Friend and colleague, and no, nothing would be worth that," replied Rob, looking up.

"We've been looking into your alibi and no one at that party can you recall you being there."

"Look, am I being charged?"

"You might be if you don't come clean about where you were, Mr Fairfield. Or should we just ask your girlfriend?"

"Feel free."

CID Interview Room 2

"I let him do what he wants and I just seethe quietly about it later. It suits the both of us." Tanya sat back in the interview chair and crossed her arms.

"So you have an open relationship?" asked Kate.

"He seems to think so."

"What makes you think he was with another woman that night?"

"Because I was at the bloody party in Islington and he wasn't. Where else would he be?"

"Perhaps Christian found out about the theft and Rob finished him off."

CID corridor

Kate and Emma conferred in the hallway, sure that their suspects were lying.

"Making any headway?" asked Kate.

"Nope. Want to swap?"

"Definitely."

CID Interview Room 1

"Right, Mr Fairfield, it looks like you've got yourself in a bit of a pickle here," said Kate.

"I've told you. I haven't done anything wrong."

"Now, I'm not going to take any more of this from you. I've just been speaking to your girlfriend and it's become clear to me that you were the sole thief of the coin. Perjury isn't a very nice word is it?"

He muttered something under his breath.

"All right then. Right now you're looking to be very high on our list of murder suspects." She pointed her finger at him so close that he went cross-eyed. "Once and for all, Mr Fairfield, can you prove where you were the night Christian died?"

CID Interview Room 2

"Have you heard of buyer's remorse, Tanya?" asked Emma.

"Yes, o'course."

"Do you think there's such a thing as thief's remorse?"

"I..."

"You see we have a problem here... I've been in the interview room with Rob and he is this far away -" she held her thumb and index finger close together, "from telling us that you took the coin. And I would much rather have your side of the story."

CID corridor

Kate and Emma exited the rooms at the same time.

"Cracked?" asked Kate.

"Yep. They took the coin together, _before_ Christian was killed."

"Robert has kindly given me the mobile number of a friendly household hot-goods tradesman he went to meet the night Christian died."

Forensic lab

Dr Weatherall examined the skeleton, which had been moved to the police labs.

"Epiphyseal fusion not yet complete; little wear and tear. I would say she was between seventeen and twenty-five. It's harder to be any more accurate than that, I'm afraid. When did you say those first digs were carried out?"

"1978," said Kate in a tissue muffled voice.

"Almost 30 years underground doesn't leave much to work with."

"Is there anything that might help us in trying to track down who she was?" asked Emma.

"Well, until we find a match on dental records, there is one other thing. See the indentations on the pelvic bone?"

"Sort of."

"The results aren't exactly conclusive but I'm willing to say she had been pregnant. As to whether she gave to birth to the child, that I don't know."

"But she wasn't pregnant at the time of death?"

"Did you find a tiny skeleton above the pelvis?" the doctor asked with an almost imperceptible hint of sarcasm.

"No," Emma replied.

"Then no."

"Cause of death?" Kate interrupted.

"Asphyxiation. I can't be clearer. It could have been caused by drowning, suffocation, strangulation or simply choking. Simplest answer could be that she fell into a hole filled with water and drowned. The nasty answer could be that she was pushed."

"Ooh, before I forget." Emma opened up the bag with the single bone which had been found on Christian's person. With a latex-gloved hand she placed it on the metal tray amongst the other hand bones of their mystery skeleton. "Snap," she exclaimed triumphantly.

Emma's desk

Emma skimmed through the various articles and plans relating to the original dig site. She was searching for something that might have made Christian go out that night. It wasn't until the same small article appeared in three consecutive editions of the local newspaper that she noticed it. Someone had obviously pulled a few strings to get it printed on the front page. It requested contact from a Corrie Dwight who had disappeared. 'Please come home,' begged the advert. No name was given as a contact but there was a note to ask that if anyone knew of Corrie's whereabouts would they please contact Middleford Police. Emma turned to her computer and delved into the records of this missing person.

"Corrie Dwight, born 1958. Gave birth to Amy Dwight on the 9th of February 1978." Emma read it out loud.

"Well that could match the recent pregnancy," said Kate.

"She isn't officially recorded as missing until 1981. That's two years later, which is why she hasn't come up on any of our matches yet."

"So what makes you think she's our girl?"

"These adverts were placed in the local paper at the same time as the digs. I don't know how I missed it."

"And who was she?"

Emma skimmed the entry. "You won't believe this. She was one of the councillors overseeing the original project."

"You're kidding. So what happened to baby Amy?" asked Kate.

"Oh yeah. Let's look." Emma tapped away. "Okay - here we go. Went to live with her maternal grandfather."

"And who is that?"

Emma paused, open-mouthed. "Bernard Whitely."

* * *

**Part 4**

* * *

Bernard Whitely's house

"Mr Whitely, we have some news for you."

"Is it about Christian? I can get Perdita."

"It's about your daughter."

"Corrie? But what news can you have of her?"

"Perhaps we'd best sit down, Mr Whitely." Emma took him by the arm and guided him through to the sitting room.

* * *

Kate and Emma sat side by side perusing the note, which Bernard had passed to them.

_I love you but I can't go through with this._  
Life is too hard. I must leave.  
Goodbye. x

"In the moses basket?" Kate asked suspicously.

"That's right."

"And this is what? Corrie's wedding ring?" asked Emma, playing with the gold band.

Bernard nodded. "I know it sounds clichéd but that's what happened."

Perdita entered the room carrying a teatray. "I don't see any reason for you to find my grandfather's account untruthful."

"So, Perdita, why the name change?" Emma leaned forward to grab a mug and a piece of shortcake.

"Are you familiar with the story of A Winter's Tale?" asked Bernard, stirring several scoops of sugar into his tea.

"Vaguely," replied Kate.

"Well the upshot is that the situation was similar and I felt that Perdita needed to leave the past behind her, so my late wife and I became legal guardians and changed her name. Amy Dwight became Perdita Whitely. She grew up as our own." He clutched onto Perdita's hand.

"What do you think it was that Corrie was referring to when she wrote this note?" asked Emma.

"She and her husband had an acrimonious break up and he moved to New Zealand. I always thought that she felt unable to cope with being a single mother."

"And he emigrated before Corrie went missing?"

"Yes. Long before. So, what happened to her? Did she commit suicide?"

"We really can't rule anything out at the moment, including accident or foul play."

Perdita's face changed to that of someone hurt and offended. "Murder? You cannot seriously be telling me first that my husband has been murdered and now my mother too?"

CID office

"There's still a good chance that whoever killed Christian did it because he discovered the body of Corrie Dwight." Kate got up from her desk and walked over to Emma's.

"So who have we got? Who's lying? Perdita herself? Or even Bernard? They _must_ be privy to more information than they're letting on."

"What's this?" asked Kate as she lifted the book that Emma was studying. "Graphology?"

"I'm trying to work out from this note what kind of person Corrie Dwight was. I think I'm getting the hang of this hand-writing analysis stuff."

"Can't you just ask her father?"

"Even though he's an ex-copper he's still a suspect."

"All right then. Do me." Kate flung over a hand-written report. "No cheating."

"Let's see. Quite angular. That means, um..." Emma traced a finger down the page. "Resentful and stubborn."

"You're probably reading the wrong bit."

"I've got another book here; let's try that one." Emma flicked through the pages. "Your lower loops look like... ah, these ones."

"Yes?"

"Uncompromising resentment and... oh..."

Kate grabbed the book and glanced down at the rest of the analysis, which read: 'Difficultly in sexual gratification'. "Charming." Her nose wrinkled. "Let me do yours." She gathered up the scrap of paper, on which Emma had been making notes. "Now. Moderate right slant - somewhat impulsive, compassionate and amicable. Fluid form - altruistic and original." Kate frowned. "Aha, here we go," she said triumphantly. "Rounded m and n - lazy and immature."

Emma sniggered. "Not exactly damning."

Kate tossed the book back onto the desk. "Come on then, Scribbs. What have you found?"

"Well, I was finding it really hard to begin with but then I realised something. Unless I've gone bonkers, everything below this line here was written by someone else."

Kate leaned down beside Emma to cast a critical eye over the note. "What makes you suspect that?"

Emma looked at Kate, then back at the note. "Look, the words up to this point are quite delicate and almost nervous. The author's not applied much pressure with the pen. After that, the letters are drawn with deep pressure and every line with great care. Almost as if Corrie began writing a note, then someone copied her style and finished it for her."

* * *

"The lab boys agree with your findings. Everything beyond the word 'this' was potentially written by someone else."

"So Corrie wrote 'I love you but I can't go through with this' - it's still pretty final."

"They found something else. The note has been cut, giving the top edge a sort of wavy look."

"To conceal who the note was originally intended for," said Emma, suddenly grabbing onto Kate's wrist.

"Precisely."

CID office

"How are we doing, ladies? Keeping up with the Joneses?" asked Sullivan.

"Hey boss, I've just noticed something. I thought this Roman emperor looked familiar." Emma held a large printout of the coin up to Sullivan's face.

"Remarkable," said Kate without a hint of sarcasm.

"I have been told before that I have noble features," said Sullivan smugly.

"Are you of Roman decent?" asked Kate.

"Well they did invade Ireland so there could be Roman blood in these veins. What about you, Ash? I've always thought you had a tinge of the mediterranean in you."

She blushed. "I haven't really spoken to my father about my heritage. Hang on. A Winter's Tale. The story of Perdita. As a child she was abandoned because her mother's husband presumed that he was not the father." Kate waved her fingers about, trying to recall more. "He has his wife imprisoned, accusing her of having an affair."

"He sounds lovely," commented Emma.

"He said that the child was the product of the affair. Of course it turns out that Hermione, that's the mother, hadn't had an affair at all. Perdita is raised by a shepherd and gets the prince."

"And that's one less book I have to put on my reading list." Emma smiled, crossing her arms.

"So what are you saying, Ash? How does this relate to the case?" asked Sullivan with his hands in his pockets.

"Bernard said that the situation was similar. What if Corrie's husband left because he thought she'd had an affair, and if that's the case, who did he think the affair was with?"

Gallimore entered the room. "Some pillock cut through the power cables to the Square's security cameras. We checked with a bloke at the council, Marlborough or something -"

"Mulberry," corrected Emma, she was watching Kate, who gave a small noise of approval at the mention of Derek's name.

"Yeah, that's it. Anyway, apparently it was one of their builders last week and it's not been fixed yet. Out of the ones you asked for, there was one camera working. It's the one facing down the road of the old guardsmen cottages."

"Brilliant, thanks. Ash, why don't we go and compare Bernard's little black book with the video?" Emma suggested.

Playback room

Kate and Emma hunched up beside each other. Kate fast-forwarded through the footage of the quiet street.

"I can't believe Derek picked you over me," said Emma.

"Why not? Isn't he allowed to have good taste?" replied Kate.

"It's not that."

"What then?"

"You're just..."

"Yes?" Kate asked impatiently, her cheeks still flushed from her continuing cold.

"Hard work," conceded Emma.

"Oh, thanks. You're just jealous."

A flash on the screen caught their attention. "Hold on a sec, look, there's Bernard's light going on."

Kate pressed play. "And there's him going out. The times tally up."

"Can you rewind? I thought I saw something."

Kate wound the tape slowly backwards. 11.45pm. 11.30pm. 11.21pm. She hit pause. "There, who's that? That's not Bernard."

"You're right, it's not - it's Perdita." Emma saw Kate check her watch; she wasn't used to her partner being more eager to go on a date than to solve a crime.

"Look, why don't you go home, have a shower and get dosed up on Lemsip, then have a lovely evening?"

"That almost sounded sincere."

"Go. Sullivan will go with me to see Perdita."

Excavation site

Emma and Sullivan approached Perdita, who was clearing away tools for the night.

"Mind if we have a word, Mrs Jones?" asked Emma.

"I suppose not, as long as it doesn't take long. You already have two of my workers locked up and there's plenty to do."

Emma pursed her lips.

"I don't think we've met, Mrs Jones. I'm DCI Sullivan. Perdita isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Pretty name. It means 'lost' in Latin doesn't it?"

Her expression seemed to soften a little as gave a small nod.

"Mrs Jones, we have reason to believe that you left the house the night of your husband's death. This is in contradiction to the statement you gave."

"I didn't kill him."

"I didn't say you did."

"Is 'reason to believe' the same as proof?"

"Surveillance footage," offered Emma politely.

"I went for a walk." She crossed her arms over her chest, looking at the ground.

A voice came from behind them. "Don't believe her. Perdita - why won't you just tell them?"

"Because I don't want to lose you."

Tariq came up beside them. "I can't prove it, but I was in my bed and breakfast that night, and Perdita was there with me."

Emma waved a finger between them. "You two?"

"Yes."

"Why all the secrecy?" asked Sullivan.

"An affair would give you _reason to believe_ that we had a motive to kill Christian. But we didn't. When he left that night talking of 'taking care' of something, I assumed that he'd found out and was going to go after Tariq."

Derek Mulberry's house

"Big on hunting, are you?" asked Kate, nodding towards the various stags and predatory creatures' heads that lined the walls.

"Mm? Oh, no. They came with the house. I keep meaning to take them down but the place would be a little empty without them," replied Derek. "Can I offer you some wine? Or would you prefer a cough syrup cocktail?" he asked playfully.

"Wine would be lovely, thank you." She let her hand brush over the back of a plush leather sofa by an open fire. _'This is more like it'_, she thought to herself.

"Some of the antiques are mine; I'm a bit of a collector. Feel free to take a look around."

Kate wandered around the room, glancing at the paintings; she couldn't help but think about the murder. She cast her mind to the note. The first sentence danced about in her mind. 'I love you but I can't go through with this.' She glanced over at a glass case containing various items kept under lock and key. "Oh," she said to herself.

"Derek?"

"Yes, Kate?"

"How long have you been working for the council?"

"Ooh, about thirty years now. Sounds like an awfully long time, doesn't it?"

"In that case... perhaps you knew Perdita Jones' mother, Corrie Dwight?"

The sound of a decanter being knocked over came from the corner where Derek stood. For a moment he failed to turn and face her.

Emma's house

Emma sat down with a mug of hot coffee and looked over the collection of scattered papers. Sitting back, she took a bite of a biscuit, dropping crumbs onto the paperwork. Brushing the biscuit bits aside, she accidentally knocked a pile of cuttings off the table. _"Oops."_ She moved to sit cross-legged on the floor, gathering everything up in her lap. The last item, which had floated behind a table leg, was a newspaper article. She recognised Corrie's face, having seen photographs dotted around Bernard's house, but she also recognised another face. Emma read the article, which was dated Wednesday the 26th of April 1978.

_The location of the antique coins, recently unearthed in the excavations of the King George Square grounds, is unknown. The collection, which was to be moved to Middleford Police Station before being sold at auction in London on Friday, disappeared from Council House Stores late last night. It had been expected to raise over a million pounds. Derek Mulberry, pictured above (far right), the new councillor overseeing the archaeological project, was recently interviewed about the discovery of the aforementioned coins. 'The money from the sale of the collection is sure to be a boon to the revival of an already thriving community'. Police are hopeful and keen to recover the items swiftly. They are asking for any witnesses of suspicious behaviour in the area to report as soon as possible._

"Oh, pants," she exclaimed as she grabbed her phone and ran out of the door.

Derek Mulberry's house - outside

Emma stopped her car with a screeching halt outside Derek's house, she quickly released her seat-belt and was about to get out when Kate opened the passenger door and collapsed into the seat.

"Well that was a bust - in more ways than one," sighed Kate.

Emma watched Derek, hands cuffed, being pushed into the back of a police car by a couple of officers.

"He murdered Corrie, the woman he loved, because she didn't want to go ahead with the theft. He amended the note, buried her in an open trench, took baby Perdita and left her on Bernard's doorstep. Almost thirty years later, Christian turns up and makes the link between Corrie going missing and the seventies excavation. Lo and behold he finds her skeleton."

Emma added up everything in her head. "So not wishing to be exposed, Derek needed to eliminate him from the equation."

"Exactly."

"So... Derek ended up stealing the collection of coins on his own."

"Ah, but you know what the most stupid thing is, Scribbs?" she asked without breaking for an answer. "The night he stole the coins from the council, thieves broke into his flat and stole the lot from him. It was all for nothing. Derek won all his money on the Pools. He's been slowly buying back all the coins from the black market for his private collection, which he keeps in a neat glass case in his grand hall."

"Smart," said Emma sarcastically.

"Is this how it's going to be, Scribbs? Drifting from one idiot to the next?"

"Your luck'll change. They won't all be murderers," said Emma, assuredly.

Kate sat back and relaxed into her seat as Emma started up the car and began to drive off. Suddenly she turned to Emma. "If you tell Sullivan that I was on a date with Derek, I _will_ have to kill you."

"I know, Ash. I know." Emma smiled.

* * *

**Next episode:**  
Middleford Theatre becomes the set for one of its own real-life murder mysteries. Which one of the cast or crew did the deed? Will Ash and Scribbs be able to shake off their elderly companion or will she be able to solve it before they do?


	3. The Actor's Folly

Helen sipped at the glass again and stared with stricken eyes at the painting. She felt a slight sensation in the soles of her feet, as if she were walking lightly on hot coals. With fluctuating breathing, her heart played out a beat that seemed impossibly fast. She felt her knees give way and sank to the ground, out of the view of the portrait of the Madonna and child. She clutched at her throat, unable to swallow, as her organs slowed their functions to a stop.

David knelt by her side and spoke directly into her ear. "Helen? Helen? Have you forgotten what to do? It's not your death scene yet."

Margaret looked confused at the scene before her; her soundless words of distress gave way to a scream when she realised it wasn't an act. She fainted dead away, falling to the floor, but was soon revived with a splash of water to the face. Slowly turning her head she looked into Helen's stony blue eyes. Through blurred vision, she watched Ian cease compressions to Helen's chest and press two fingers to her pale neck. A few seconds passed, a hush fell and he shook his head. Amongst the audience there came a ripple of realisation, which crescendoed as chatter turned into panic.

"Murder! Someone's killed her!" someone in the audience cried. A few of the onlookers stayed seated, bewildered by the events around them, unsure whether to believe their eyes.

On the stage floor, between the actors, lay two plastic Martini glasses; they spun in circles then slowly came to a halt.

* * *

**Part 1**

* * *

Fairground

"Let's get this wrapped up, people," announced DCI Sullivan. He clapped his hands together.

"Boss, we're supposed to be undercover," said Emma quietly as she wandered up to the gathering of police officers who were all wearing civilian clothes.

"You're quite right, Scribbs; I shall try to be less commanding," he said, thrusting his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

Kate turned to Emma and sniffed the air. "You smell sweet."

"Cuh, there's no getting anything past you." From behind her back, Emma drew out two sticks of candyfloss and presented one to Kate as if it were a bunch of flowers. Kate nudged her in the side with an elbow and whispered a thank you into her ear as she twirled a piece around her finger.

"We're not here to enjoy the fun of the fair, you two. Candyfloss isn't exactly conducive to rounding up a gang of drug-dealers," Sullivan interrupted.

"Just blending in, Boss," said Kate, winking slyly at Emma.

"Hm. Right then. Let's get mingling, everyone - eyes open." Sullivan was the first to leave; the rest of the group then dispersed slowly.

"See you in a bit." Emma started off for her destination, but was caught by the arm by Kate.

"I thought you'd been asked to cover the area by the big wheel?"

"Later. I've seen somewhere I want to go first."

Fortuneteller's Cabin

"Now, my dear, what would you like to ask the cards?" asked Melinda.

"Um. How's about: 'Will I find love this year?'" Emma leant forward and placed her forearms on the table, hands clasped together.

"Ahh, yes. Of course."

Emma scrunched up her nose. "You probably get that one a lot."

The fortuneteller dipped her head and gave a small smile as she began to lay out the cards. "Hm. Tell me, are you in a relationship at the moment?"

"Not anything I would call a relationship," she replied, peering over at the cards, trying to read their inverted titles.

"The cards imply a change - no, a development - of an existing relationship. But first, a trial will befall you; it will be the turning point."

"I'm afraid to say that a trial will be befalling _you_," Emma smiled smugly. "You and your little gang are nicked."

Kate made her entrance through a set of spangly curtains and crouched beside an ornate trunk, which she opened to reveal a gamut of drugs and associated paraphernalia. "Naughty, naughty," she said, then bit her lip with mock dismay.

Melinda took up her skirts in her fists and made a dash for the door only to be caught, turned and pushed across the table by Emma, tarot cards scattering. After cuffing her, Emma was about to make a joke about the situation when Kate interrupted.

"Shall I?"

"All right - as long as it's not the one about the 'small medium at large', or 'striking a happy medium'," said Emma.

"Scribbs, I was just going to read her her rights."

Fairground

Once Sullivan had relieved them of their duties for the rest of the night, and they'd seen Melinda and her crew carted off, Emma and Kate walked together through the fairground.

"Let's hope she doesn't curse me."

"Scribbs, if she really were a psychic she wouldn't have to make her money by running a drugs racket."

"S'pose. Plus she would have seen us coming."

"Exactly."

They walked in silence for a while, watching people on the rides. "Do you believe in fate?" asked Emma.

Kate wrinkled her nose. "No, I don't think so."

"I do. If something is destined to happen I think it will."

"Fate is for people who don't want to take responsibility for their lives." Emma turned and grinned at her. "You're always so cheerful - it's unnerving." Kate linked her arm through Emma's and smiled back at her.

"Ash, we're young."

"Young-_ish_," she responded.

"Free."

"And _still_ single. The more you say those things, the less of a comfort they become."

"You're so full of hope, aren't you?"

Kate's mobile phone rang. "Kate Ashurst. Ah, I see. Right. We'll be right there."

"No rest for the wicked?" stated Emma rhetorically.

The Windmill Theatre - outside

Emma folded the flyer for the Middleford Players' Production of Agatha Christie's 'The Mirror Crack'd from Side to Side' and slipped it into her back pocket.

"It's been a while since I've been to the theatre," mentioned Emma.

"We have enough murder mysteries of our own to solve," replied Kate.

"You must've gone quite a bit when you were younger because of your brother."

"Well, yes. Wait - how did you know that? I never told you about that."

"Your mum showed me photos of all the productions Tom was in."

"Ahh. She didn't show you anything else, did she?" asked Kate suspiciously.

"No, nothing. Well, just you aged about four in your ballet outfit."

"_No_. She didn't, did she?"

"Actually, she didn't. I didn't know you did ballet! Were you cute?"

"I was adorable," said Kate, holding the door open for Emma.

"Yet here you are, a police officer and not a world famous ballet dancer."

"What can I say? It wasn't my raison d'etre."

The Windmill Theatre

Kate weaved her way through the throng of distressed theatregoers and climbed up the steps to the stage. Emma followed.

"Excuse me. _Excuse me._" Kate called out but her voice was lost in the noise. She turned to Emma. "Can you get their attention, please?"

Emma put her thumb and forefinger in the corners of her mouth and whistled loudly.

Kate flinched. The audience turned around slowly. "Okay, okay, everyone, please calm down. I am Detective Inspector Ashurst of Middleford CID. Our officers will be circulating in order to take your statements and contact details". There was a chorus of disapproval from the crowd. "You will _then_ be free to leave. We thank you for your continued patience and understanding." The crowd went back to its squabbling.

"Let's take a look," said Emma, motioning towards the back of the stage.

Kate and Emma made their way through the thick curtain to find the group of cast and crew talking quietly, a few of them crying onto each other's shoulders.

A white-haired, bespectacled, middle-aged man, who was little more than Emma's height, approached them. "Inspector, Sergeant. Ian Parrish. Director."

"I understand you were the one to call for the ambulance, Mr Parrish?" asked Emma.

He nudged his spectacles up the bridge of his nose with his forefinger. "Yes, though death was practically instant. It just rocketed through her body. I was watching from the wings when it happened. I approached but was unable to revive her."

"Do you know who called us?"

"I think it was an audience member; someone in the front row. I would like you to understand something: I didn't request the police because I don't believe this is anything more than an accident. No one in the world would want to harm Helen."

"I completely agree with Ian; Helen was much loved by us all," added a young blonde woman named Geraldine, who appeared from nowhere clutching a well-thumbed script to her chest. She stroked a tear away from her cheek with her shoulder.

Helen's body had been cordoned off by a screen, which had been bought originally for a production of The Mikado. Kate and Emma went behind to take a look. The victim's face was contorted into a ghastly grimace; her dark curly wig slightly askew and mouth partially open in mid-gasp. Ian and Geraldine followed.

"I understand we're missing someone: a Margaret Aitken?" asked Kate.

"She's taken up sanctuary in the dressing room," replied Geraldine.

Dressing room

Margaret sat in the glow of the lights around a mirror which stretched the length of the wall.

"This must have been a big shock for you, Ms Aitken." Kate stood with her hands clasped at her waist.

Tears streaked through her thickly-applied make-up. "One death scene and I'm even cheated out of that. Couldn't she have waited, the silly bint?" she said sorrowfully as she used a cotton wool pad to smear bright red lipstick from her mouth. "I don't hold with time-wasters, Inspector. The role of Marina Gregg should have been mine."

"You do realise that this is potentially a murder case, Ms Aitken?" asked Emma.

"Don't be silly now. No one would want to kill Helen."

"That's what everyone else is saying, funnily enough."

"Then it must be surely be true, Sergeant."

"Everyone has secrets," said Kate.

"Helen didn't. Never was there a more boring open book than Helen Bassett. She simply wasn't worth the bother."

* * *

David Murrum, still wearing the suit he wore on stage, caught them on the way out. "She's sorry really." He pulled nervously at his collar and untied his bow-tie.

"Could have fooled us," said Kate, crossing her arms.

"Her pride was hurt when she was given one of the smallest roles. Margaret isn't one for stepping out of the limelight." He spoke quietly so as not to alert Margaret to his presence.

Kate pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. "A little compassion wouldn't go amiss."

"She hides it well; you must have seen that she's been crying."

"She seemed mostly upset over not getting to finish her performance," added Emma.

"Give her a chance, please."

CID office

Next morning and everyone was back in uniform and suits. The change in style from the previous evening not being quite so distinct in Emma's case, who was wearing black boots, pin-stripe cropped trousers and a double-layered pink and cream t-shirt.

"The drink was laced with thallium sulphate, a high dose," began Emma.

"Something in the order of 400mg," Kate explained to DCI Sullivan. "It attacked Helen's nervous system but it was the cardiac arrest that killed her. Had she not had a weak heart she wouldn't be dead now; death by thallium poisoning is usually a little more drawn out."

"And what do we know about this substance?" Sullivan asked, having not encountered it before.

"Well, it's odourless, tasteless; perfect for a quiet evening's poisoning," explained Emma.

"So, not an accident then?"

"Definitely not," replied Kate. "Too high a dose. It's found in various household chemicals like rat poison and ant killer."

"It's also known as the 'Poisoner's Poison'," added Emma.

"Any suspects yet?"

"Margaret Aitken seemed very unaffected and angry. I'd place my bet on her."

"Previous convictions?" he asked.

"She's certainly not got a blemish-free past. Several charges of drunk in charge of a vehicle. Speeding. She finally lost her licence last year," explained Kate.

"We're going to interview the rest of the cast, today," added Emma.

Sullivan looked at the list on the board, which had everyone's names lined up against the characters they played. "Aha, I see Mrs Goodwill is next. Maybe she can give you a few pointers on your investigative technique," he laughed knowingly.

"Why?" asked Kate, walking over to the board to take a look. "Oh, very funny, boss," said Kate sarcastically.

June Goodwill's house

"Oh come on, Ash, she's even knitting. Maybe she can solve this for us." They peered through the bay window and watched June sitting primly in her armchair, a pair of small spectacles perched on the end of her nose.

Kate and Emma looked at each other.

"Hardly. Just because she _played_ Miss Marple it doesn't mean she's going to embody the exact same characteristics."

"Detectives Ashurst and Scribbins, how nice. I was expecting you."

Suddenly realising that June must have seen them and come outside to greet them, they turned on their heels and Kate gave an overly large embarrassed smile.

"Tea, ladies?"

* * *

**Part 2**

* * *

June Goodwill's house

"Nothing, I'm afraid. I was in the dressing room. Miss Marple doesn't attend the party. So it's definitely murder, you say? Well, my... I suppose these things happen."

"Do you know much of Helen's life?" asked Kate.

"I remember when she was born. She was a quiet child who became a reserved adult. She did love the theatre though. She based her world around it. Involved in every project, never far from the stage; she worked the box office too. It was slightly odd, though, for her to take the part of Marina Gregg. Not really like her at all."

"What do you mean?" asked Emma.

"Well, it's a big role. She's never taken one on before but Ian simply insisted."

June Goodwill's house - outside

Kate and Emma walked over the road to find that their car had been blocked in by a delivery lorry, the owner of which was nowhere to be seen.

"Great."

"C'mon, we'll walk," said Emma tugging on the sleeve of Kate's coat.

They walked purposefully up the hilly slope towards the theatre. Emma let her hand rumble over the railings which flanked the pavement. They heard a car horn its honk a couple of times from behind them.

"Ugh!" said Kate. "Why do they have to do that?" They watched the car drive past, the driver peering at them.

"Maybe they think we're hot. It's flattering," said Emma smiling cheekily.

"Scribbs - it's a _hearse_! It's anything but flattering."

They watched the hearse pull over to the side of the road. As they caught up with it the electric passenger window wound its way down. Another of the actors, a black-suited Peter Bamford, looked up at them from his seat. "Hello there. Are you two okay? Would you like a lift anywhere?" A light rain began to spit, Emma and Kate looked at each other and mentally agreed to take the ride. They shuffled onto the double-width passenger seat and strapped themselves in.

"We had intended to visit you today, Mr Bamford. I wasn't aware that you were an undertaker," said Kate.

"Peter, please. Well, we've all got jobs outside the amateur dramatics. There's Joan - she restores paintings. Ian's a doctor; David's a primary school teacher. Um, who else? Helen was a civil servant, can't remember where, and Maggie's a drama teacher. Then of course there's Auntie June. She's an well known author, you know."

"Auntie June? June Goodwill is your aunt?" inquired Kate, leaning past Emma to look at Peter.

"Mm-hm," he said as he took a turn into the grounds of the theatre.

"So what sort of books does she write?" asked Emma.

"Romantic murder mysteries: sort of Barbara Cartland meets Ruth Rendell." Kate sank back into her seat and looked at Emma. "So. How do you think I did as a Detective Inspector? I assume you've seen the recording?"

"I'm sorry - recording?" said Kate.

"Al Flanagan always records one of the performances, this time he recorded the opening night. Shame because last night's one would have been of much more use, I'm sure."

"Thank you. We'll be sure to check that out," said Kate. The car stopped and they got out. "If you think of anything else then let us know. Here's our contact card."

"Thanks for the lift, Peter," Emma called from behind Kate and waved with her right hand, her other hand firmly in her back pocket.

Windmill Theatre – ladies' toilets

Kate stood at the sink squeezing pink soap from the dispenser into the palm of her hand.

"Scribbs, you'll never believe who asked me out on a date this morning," she called back to the stalls behind her. "PC Holmes. I mean, honestly, do I look like a lesbian?" The toilet flushed and the only occupied cubicle opened.

"Takes all sorts," said Geraldine, who calmly smiled at Kate as she walked over to join her at the sinks.

Kate turned to her and looked suitably embarrassed and apologetic. She gently bit her lip.

"I think your colleague has gone to the wardrobe department."

"Right, thanks," Kate responded.

"I'm Geraldine, we met last night." She dried her hands with a paper towel and then offered a hand to Kate, who politely shook it.

Windmill Theatre - wardrobe department

"Hey, Ash. Look at this." Emma looped a false ginger beard over her her ears and placed it on her chin.

"Very fetching." Kate looked around the room at the rows of costumes on fixed wall racks, some of which required a fifteen-foot ladder to reach. Cupboards and masses of perfectly labelled drawers contained a variety of accessories and basic props.

"Oooh, they rent out for fancy dress parties."

"Scribbs, when did you last get invited to a fancy dress party?"

"Last week."

"Oh."

"You probably only get invited to masque balls."

"Hm. Or not."

Emma pulled off the beard, pulled on an World War II army officer's hat and placed a large pipe in the corner of her mouth, clenching the mouthpiece with her teeth.

"You don't know where that's been."

"Come on, Ash. Live a little." She took the hat from her own head and placed it on Kate's, tugging it down. She stepped back. "Suits you."

* * *

"Yes, I mixed up the food colouring with the lemonade. It's supposed to look like a cocktail, you see. I put the jug on the props table and that was about it," said Geraldine.

"Jug? So you didn't actually pour out into the glasses?" asked Emma.

"No. Actually, it was Helen who was in charge of pouring out before taking on stage."

"How come?"

"We have a bad track record of people rushing past the table to get changed and knocking everything over."

"I see," said Kate, whilst Emma made a note of it.

"Everything is laid out very particularly. We have the table marked out in a grid so that each person's props are in different sections."

"How many drinks were poured?"

"Just the two. There's a bit of the play that centres around it. One for the character Marina Gregg, and one for the character Heather Badcock."

"Bad -?" started Emma.

"Cock. Yes. Don't look at me, I didn't write it." Geraldine shrugged.

"Heather. That role was played by..." Emma checked her notes. "Margaret?"

Geraldine nodded.

"You're pretty much friends with everyone here, is that right?" asked Emma.

"I've always been happy to help people with their lines. It makes you popular if you know how to stroke a few egos."

"Is there anyone you can think of who might have had a reason to kill Helen?"

"Helen was a dear friend to everyone. Even to those of us who are too spiteful to realise it."

Windmill Theatre - outside

Kate suddenly held Emma back by her arm and looked her up and down.

"Is that the coat you went in wearing?"

"Oh, whoops," replied Emma as she ran back in. Before she reached the wardrobe department she noticed two people talking heatedly on stage. She snuck to one side and listened.

David and Margaret stood on stage. They threw verbal abuse at each other. David, clearly trying to keep his temper under control, clenched his fists. "Just a bit of bloody emotion, that's all I ask."

"I'm all emotion, David, that's all I am. Just leave me be." Margaret made an attempt to storm away but found herself wilting and tired.

"All I want is for you to be sorry!" he shouted.

"I am, David, but I just can't bloody say it."

CID office

"You know what they say. 'We always pull the pig tails of the one we love.' Isn't that right, Ash?" asked Sullivan.

"I really wouldn't know," replied Kate.

Emma looked over the top of her book at Kate, with eyebrows raised.

"Any good?" Kate asked, nodding at the book, which was June Goodwill's most recent novel 'Shadow Child'.

She put her feet up on the desk and sat back lazily in her chair. "It's a bit Jackie Collins for me, but it's not bad."

"Shouldn't you two be out there interviewing the masses?" asked Sullivan.

Joan Ebbutt's house

"I'm dead tired, what with the littl'n and Max being away on leave," said Joan.

"Leave?" asked Emma.

"With the Air Force. He's an engineer. We met three years ago, back in Glasgow. Now I barely see him for more than a few weeks at a time."

"Your role in the play was that of Lola Brewster?"

"That's right. My character has some great banter with Marina Gregg. I was on stage when Helen keeled over, you know."

"Did you see anyone tamper with her drink?"

"Her drink? Do you mean it was spiked? I can't recall seeing anything odd, no. Look, can I get yous two a hot drink? Yea?"

"Tea would be fine, thanks," replied Kate as Emma nodded.

"Would you keep an eye on Davie?"

"Sure, no problem," said Emma, smiling at the toddler who was grappling at Kate's knee, attempting to pull himself up. Emma made googly eyes at the youngster and he responded with a burbled giggle. She reached across the table towards a plate of biscuits and Kate slapped her wrist. "Ow, what was that for?"

"Because they're rusks, and correct me if I'm wrong but you no longer have any milk teeth."

Emma leant over and picked up Davie, popping him down on her lap. "You're getting your teeth, aren't you sweetheart?" She turned to Kate. "Isn't he gorgeous, Ash."

"Delightful."

"He's got my hair and your eyes. You're going to grow up to be a right lady-killer, aren't you Davie?"

"Are you accusing my son of murder?" joked Joan as she walked in with a tray of drinks.

"What's your impression of David and Margaret's relationship? Are they friends? Lovers?" asked Kate.

"They're in a relationship, but these last few months they've been at each other's throats, y'know? Margaret seems to have been suffering from stress and it's really showing - hair loss and everything."

"What about Geraldine?"

"She's been with us about a year. Lovely girl; I think David has a soft spot for her. They were both good friends with Helen."

"What did Helen think of Margaret?" asked Emma.

"Same as we all do. She's a bit of a stuck up old cow who thinks she should have been a professional actress."

"Was she not good enough?"

"Maybe, maybe not. All I know is that one night she had a car crash that crushed her pelvis and her confidence. She's alright now but she never fully recovered mentally." Joan reached over, picked up a Farley's rusk and took a bite. "Don't you just love these?"

Dr Parrish's GP practice

Emma left Kate at the surgery and went off to track down the taped recordings of the play.

Ian did not look up as Kate entered the room. "Grumbling ovaries again, Mrs Henderson?"

Kate raised her index finger. "Excuse me. Not Mrs Henderson."

He looked up and his cheeks flushed red. "Inspector, I'm so sorry. What can I help you with?"

"I wanted to know if there was anything different about last night's performance compared to the others."

"What sort of thing do you mean?" he asked.

"People hanging about backstage who shouldn't have been, perhaps? Or arguments."

"I can't think of anything that stands out in particular. If your department is investigating this, does it mean it's murder?"

"I'm afraid it does, and everyone on that stage and behind it is under suspicion."

"I see." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"We've been told that you were the one to influence Helen in taking the part of Marina Gregg."

"I'm not one for pushing people in a direction they don't want to go, Inspector. If you really want to know, we received an anonymous letter requesting our next play to be The Mirror Crack'd. They asked especially for Helen to play the part of Marina."

* * *

**Part 3**

* * *

Kate's flat

Kate opened the door. She was wearing a casual t-shirt and jeans covered by a blue and grey striped apron, which was crossed over at the back and tied in a bow at the front. She rubbed at her eyes. They were red and a little puffy.

"Oh, it's you," she said as she pressed the back of her hand to the corner of her eye.

"Expecting someone better? Ash, are you alright? You been crying?" asked Emma.

"Just onions. Did you want something in particular?"

"I've been round to the Flanagan house to collect the recording of the play." She waved the DVD in the air and peered into the flat. "So are you cooking real food, then?"

"That is what I tend to cook."

"Smells nice."

"Yes, it does."

"Are you cooking just for yourself?" asked Emma.

Kate crossed her arms. "Yes."

"Might I assume you're making enough to freeze for another time?"

"Are you begging for an invite?" asked Kate.

"No." Emma stood silently in the doorway.

Kate sighed. "Come in then."

Emma grinned. "You have to let me help." She pulled off her coat, hung it up and followed Kate into the kitchen.

"I'm not sure. Most of your cooking attempts subsequently require reclassification out of the usual animal, vegetable and mineral groups," Kate said, waving her hands about.

"Hey, I'm getting better."

"Admit it, Scribbs, your cooking is haphazard at best."

"I'm experimental, that's all."

"You almost killed that bloke you cooked for."

"It wasn't my fault. He was allergic."

"No, not him. The other one."

"Oh, yeah. No, you're right - he wasn't allergic."

"Halve these," Kate said as she plonked down a large handful of washed cherry tomatoes. "You can't get that wrong."

Emma pushed her sleeves up to her elbows, ready to start work.

"Here you go." Kate was holding something in an outstretched hand.

Emma took the item, which at first she assumed was a folded tea towel. She unravelled it. "You have an apron especially for guests?"

"The door's over there if you decide _not_ to let me cook for you."

"No, no. I'll stay," Emma said with a wide smile, putting on the apron.

Kate pulled the cork on a bottle of red wine; she sloshed a bit into one of the pans and then filled two wine glasses. The liquid sizzled as it warmed and Kate's cheeks became rosy with the heat from the steam.

They stood for a while in silence. "What I don't understand is why?" Kate turned and waved a knife in Emma's direction as she spoke. Emma watched the blade bounce up and down.

"Why what?" asked Emma, not realising that Kate had turned her thoughts back to the case.

"Why someone chose to kill her in that way - on stage. It's a bit... risky, let alone over the top."

"Could've been suicide."

"What do you mean? Here. Taste this." Kate held the wooden spoon over her flattened palm and offered it for Emma to taste.

Emma tried the sauce and gave two thumbs up. "Mm. Lovely. Poisoned herself - for one final dramatic exit."

"Very dramatic." Kate paused to think as she stirred a bubbling pot. "But why? They all said she was a generally happy person." She turned to Emma again and suddenly squinted. "Oh, you haven't cut yourself already have you?"

"Mm?" Emma looked down at her hand. "No, that's red biro."

* * *

Emma knelt by the television and ejected the disk that was in the DVD player. She looked at its face. "Oh Ash," she exclaimed, disappointed. "You haven't been watching Brief Encounter again, have you?"

"So what if I have?"

"You really need to watch some films where the lovers actually end up together."

"Just put the DVD in, will you?" Kate demanded impatiently as she settled down on the sofa.

* * *

They watched the recording together, drinking more and more wine and settling back for the night, side by side on the sofa. They threw ideas about for hours without realising the passage of time.

"So the woman who said that the poison was intended for her was in fact the murderer," said Emma.

"Wait a minute." Kate put her hand on top of Emma's. "Are you talking about the plot or real life?"

"Oh, I don't even know anymore." She leant back into the sofa. "Your DVD player's reset itself," said Emma, pointing at the machine.

"Oh?" Kate looked over. "No it hasn't; it's midnight. You'd better be going."

"Can't I stay over?"

"We're not thirteen."

"Oh please. I've drunk too much to drive back and I don't fancy getting a taxi. Please."

"No Scribbs. No chance."

* * *

Next morning, Emma sat down on the wooden chair and yawned. She pulled her shoulders back as she stretched, wincing as an ache ran though her spine. "If your bed is as hard as your sofa I'm not surprised you get up early every day." She covered a yawn with her hand and rubbed at her eye.

Kate sipped at her cup of coffee and sat down beside Emma. "Now that's gratitude for you. I should have made you sleep on the floor."

"Ash... how come you have spares of everything?"

"I don't know what you mean. I don't."

"You had a spare toothbrush for me though, didn't you?"

"Well that's. Well. It's just in case."

"Oh, I see." Emma slunk back in her chair and made a cheeky face. "I got the lover's toothbrush."

"No harm in being prepared, is there?"

"Not highly romantic, is it though?" She mimicked Kate inviting a boyfriend round to the flat. "Come in, take a seat, have a glass of wine. Now before we engage in anything - yours is the blue toothbrush and I sleep on the left. We may now kiss."

"Do you want me to kick you out whilst you're still wearing those pyjamas?" Kate waved a finger in Emma's direction.

"I wouldn't mind. They're very nice pyjamas."

"Keep them. They look better on you anyway."

Emma smiled to herself, crossed her arms and leant forward on the table.

"I don't believe it," said Kate.

"What?" asked Emma, concerned.

"You didn't leave any toast crumbs in the butter," said Kate, showing Emma the tub. "Amazing."

"I told you I'd be the perfect flat guest." As a slight knee-jerk reaction she added. "Thank you for having me."

CID office

"Katie?" began Emma, standing with her hands behind her back, rocking on her heels.

"On the very, very rare occasions that you use my name in the diminutive, you always want something," said Kate suspiciously.

"Sullivan wants to see us in his office."

Kate crossed her arms and waited patiently.

Emma bit her lip. "And can you lend me money for lunch? I'm skint."

"Erg. Are you going to need me to provide you with food for the whole week?"

Sullivan's office

"So, what do we think? Was Helen having an affair with someone? Did she cause hurt to someone?" asked Sullivan.

"'Fraid not, boss. Not that we can find, anyway," said Emma.

"Well perhaps you do need a little help, then."

"No, honestly, boss. We'll be fine. It's just a slow process," said Kate.

"I insist. Besides, we have no choice. You're to collect June Goodwill from her house and take her on interviews with you."

"That's not -" started Kate, standing with hands on her hips.

"Those on high have decided. June's publishers are making a large donation to the department for the privilege. She'll be taking notes on what you two get up to. In the investigation, that is."

Emma's car

Kate sighed. "I have to go to a family thing tonight and I don't particularly want to go boyfriendless"

"What about that rugby player from a few months ago?" asked Emma.

"Rugby player?"

"Yea, the one who looked like Buzz Lightyear."

"Oh him. That's an accurate description - right down to the oversized jaw and tiny toy brain."

"He was nice, though. Sweet."

"Hmm, yes, but I would have appreciated it if he hadn't spent the entire date counting his teeth with his tongue."

"So what was the verdict?"

"Thirty-two," replied Kate, misunderstanding the question. "To which I said, 'Just two more than you have brain cells.' He thought I was paying him a ruddy compliment."

Emma smiled and pulled the steering wheel to the right as they travelled around the roundabout. "I suppose you're the kind of girl who wants one of those movie dates and kisses in the rain."

"And since when has there been anything wrong with being a romantic, Scribbs?"

"As long as you don't mind being romantic on your own," she replied pragmatically. "What about Ben from IT?"

"He has a large collection of games consoles."

"So?"

"He keeps them in his bedroom."

"And?"

"His bedroom in the house he shares with his mother."

"Oh. Alright then. Um, Craig from the canteen."

"Have you _seen_ Craig from the canteen?"

Kate caught sight of movement in the rear-view mirror. She pulled at her seatbelt and turned around. "Excuse me. We didn't agree that you could make notes on our personal conversations."

June Goodwill stopped writing and looked up. "It seems to me that you find fault with far too many men."

"I don't mean to be blunt -"

"Yes you do," interrupted Emma.

"But I don't think it's really any of your business," continued Kate.

"Perhaps what you're looking for is right under your nose." June pointed at her with a pen.

"DCI Sullivan?"

"Well -" June attempted to respond.

"No, no. I don't think so."

"Sometimes, you walk by the good ones because you're trying too hard; too hard to see them," said June poetically.

"Is that from one of your books?"

"No, dear, Will Young," she said matter-of-factly. "Kate, why don't you take Emma?"

Kate's nose scrunched up. "It's not really the kind of evening out Scribbs would be invited to."

"Do you want some hay for that high horse?" said Emma, mildly disgruntled.

"It's not your thing." Kate turned back and looked out of the passenger window.

"So what if your parents have evening soirées and mine have barbeques in the back garden. We're not such different people."

"All right then." She pointed at Emma. "But you're driving because I'll definitely be drinking."

"I'm not sure I want to go now. I haven't exactly been asked."

Kate sighed. "Come to the party with me."

"Say please."

"Please," Kate muttered noncommittally.

"Like you mean it, Ash."

"Oh, for goodness' sake. _Please_."

"Alright then, but if I'm spending the evening with your mum then we're getting a taxi, because we'll both need to get pissed. What time do I need to be there?"

"No, no. I'll come to yours to get ready or you'll choose something inappropriate to wear."

"Are we going to listen to Duran Duran and crimp each other's hair too? Oh please, please." Emma laughed.

"Just keep your eyes on the road, Scribbs."

St. Mark's Primary School

"Knees up, Theo, that's it. Now everyone - we're going to pretend to be bees. Make the noise too, that's it. No, not that noise, Bridget. It should be buzzzz."

"Mr Murrum, can we have a quick word?" asked Emma.

David motioned for his assistant to continue to the class. "Jo, can you keep an eye on Bridget? She keeps trying to sting Phillip."

"Inspector, Sergeant. June?"

"Hello David," replied June, beaming at him. "I'm helping out."

Kate jumped into the conversation. "Mrs Goodwill is... shadowing us, for research."

"Mr Murrum, you were on stage at the time of Helen's death. Did you see anyone drop anything into her drink?" asked Emma.

"I think it'd be pretty hard to do something like that on stage."

"What about the props table - who has access to that?"

"Everyone. Everyone has to walk by it before going on."

"He's right. Anyone could have dropped it in the glass; no mess, no prints. A nice distance killing," added June.

"How is your relationship with Margaret, David?" asked Kate.

"I don't see how that's relevant."

"Oh, just answer them, David," said June, holding onto his elbow.

"Not great, if you must know. A few years ago she lost out on a professional part, took to drinking again and ended up in an accident. She was pregnant at the time and we lost the baby. I think the play has brought back some bad memories. She's getting worse and worse, health-wise. Thank god she hasn't started drinking again… yet."

"Tell them who she lost the part to, David. They'll find out anyway."

"It was Helen. Helen got the part."

Hayder's Secondary School

Margaret split her class into groups and had them warm up while she talked to her visitors.

"So he told you about that, did he?" She sighed deeply and eased herself into a chair. "Yes, Helen got the part over me and I took it badly. In the end, she failed to turn up to the actual job and they called me as back up but I was in hospital by then. She never could do anything right. If there's something I can't bear it's people who don't have confidence in themselves."

"Did it bring back too many memories, Margaret? You blamed her didn't you?" asked Kate. "So you slipped the poison into her drink."

"Don't talk rot, woman. I'd never kill someone on stage. If I did, it would be my bloody self."

CID office

"There's something about this that doesn't quite sit right." June paced back and forth. Kate and Emma, who were sitting at their desks, looked up at her.

"It was suicide?"

"No, Emma dear. Helen wasn't the type. Plus one can't rely on the weakness of one's heart. It just doesn't work. Something doesn't match up."

"What about the anonymous letter. Do you think Ian was lying?" asked Emma.

"Oh no, who wrote the letter is obvious."

"It is?" asked Kate.

"Of course, it was Helen herself. Poor woman really suffered with low self-esteem but longed for a chance. She couldn't just ask for the part because Margaret would have made a stand against it."

"Right," said Emma.

"This is lovely. I write about murders in suburbia but I don't normally get to solve them."

Ashurst house

"Oh, Emma, so good to see you." Kate's mother, Lydia, smiled genially and took the bottle of wine which Kate had given to Emma beforehand. She leaned over to whisper in her daughter's ear. "You're not thirteen, Kate. You're not supposed to bring your friends over for dinner after school anymore." She changed her tone as she announced to them both, "Do come through."

Kate felt her lip curl. "I'm not sure I'm going to be able to stand this," she said through gritted teeth.

Emma took her by the hand and led her off out into the garden, grabbing a bottle of whiskey on the way. "C'mon, Dutch courage."

"I can't," Kate protested.

"I bet you've never had fun at one of these things."

"You're not supposed to have fun."

Hiding behind a group of tall pot plants near the conservatory, Emma held the open bottle out to Kate. "Drink."

Kate's flat - outside

"You were completely right. Why would I ever have wanted to integrate myself with those musty old gits?" said Kate, waving her arms animatedly.

"No fuddy-duddy." Emma's ability to put sentences together was somewhat marred by alcohol.

They giggled, feeling still slightly tipsy even in the cold night air.

"This is you," said Emma, pointing at over Kate's shoulder.

"Me what?" Kate looked behind her. "Oh... flat."

"Mm-hm."

"My mum thinks you're a bad influence on me."

Emma launched into an overly posh impression of Kate's mother. "'Oh Kate, darling, why on earth do you have to be a police officer? Couldn't you have become a nice PA or something?'"

Kate laughed loudly and then covered her mouth in case the neighbours heard. "Thank you for being my emergency date."

"That's all right, I had fun."

"Me too."

"Well... good night, Scribbs."

"Night, Ash."

They both leant forward to kiss each other on the cheek but inadvertently moved in the same direction, resulting in a soft kiss on the lips. They bounced away from each other in surprise.

"Whoops," said Kate, eyes wide.

Emma chuckled nervously, her hand clamped across her mouth.

* * *

**Part 4**

* * *

CID office

June held onto DCI Sullivan's arm as he escorted her over to Kate and Emma's desks.

"Someone to see you, ladies."

"Thank you."

"Mrs Goodwill." Sullivan pulled a chair over for her, nodded and left. "I'll leave you in safe hands."

"Isn't he just lovely?" commented June.

Kate and Emma smiled at her.

"Any further along?" she asked as she sat down with them.

Emma leapt into conversation. "We've interviewed everyone at the Theatre company and still can't find anyone who had a real reason to kill Helen."

"And what does that tell you?"

"Someone is lying?"

"Perhaps, perhaps. But after a good sleep I think I've got the answer. Firstly, what do we know about the dosage of poison?"

"It was large?" offered Emma.

"But not big enough to kill someone instantly. It was due to Helen's condition that she actually died," added Kate.

"Yes. So in order for the murderer to complete their job on that night, they would've had to rely on a weak heart – either that or they had already built up the poison in her system before that point."

"But she didn't have any signs of poisoning prior to that date," said Kate.

"Exactly."

"Ian was her doctor - he would have known about any medical problems," Emma said.

"Yes, but there's no motive there. So what do you have left?"

Kate and Emma looked at each other blankly.

"I think there's going to be another murder tonight unless you can intervene."

"How do you know it's going to be tonight?" asked Emma.

"Because if I'm right, it's the one night they can be guaranteed an alibi. But first I suggest that you go and have another word with Joan. She's a bright young woman and notices more than she thinks. I think she'll have something to prove our theory."

Joan Ebbutt's house

"So you're sure about what you saw?" asked Emma.

"Yes, I remember it clearly now. I didn't think about it until June mentioned it."

"Good old June," muttered Kate under her breath.

"Well that's that then. However, I suggest a bit of surveillance on the house to check who turns up with a little present for our Margaret," added June, standing up.

June Goodwill's house

Emma escorted June to her front door. They spoke for a moment and laughed. Kate watched from the car. When Emma returned, Kate looked distinctly disgruntled.

"What's up with you?" asked Emma.

"Did you tell her about last night?"

"I may have mentioned it."

"I can't believe you sometimes."

"Where's the harm? She's lovely."

"She'll take it all and wind it into one of her sordid stories."

"Don't be daft. It's not us she's interested in; it's the whole police-y bit." She paused. "Besides, I just wanted to thank her for suggesting it."

Margaret Aitken's house

Margaret stood holding the bottle, stunned. Emma emerged from the lounge and held a transparent plastic bag open so that Margaret could drop the wine into it.

"Thank you for your assistance."

"Why? Why me?"

"Well, that's what we're going to find out."

St. Mark's Primary School

Kate and Emma looked around at the various signs guiding them towards the parents' evening, which was to take place in an hour's time.

"You're a bit early; we're not quite set up yet. Now, you're the parents of...?" asked the young unkempt woman on reception.

Kate stepped forward. "We don't have a child. We're here to see Mr Murrum."

* * *

They entered the large gym and approached David, who was placing leaflets on tables around the hall.

"Mr Murrum," said Kate.

"Yes?"

"We have reason to believe that you were involved in the death of Helen Bassett and in the attempted murder of Margaret Aitken."

"I don't understand. Attempted murder of Margaret? What's going on? Is she alright?"

"On the night of Helen's death you were seen, by Joan, re-arranging the glasses on the props table," said Emma. "You intended to kill Margaret, didn't you?"

"What? No. I'm a clumsy fool. I was running off to get changed and I went slap bang into the side of it. Got a bloody great bruise on my leg if you need proof. The glasses rolled off so I just put them back, that's all."

"So why the bottle?" asked Kate, holding it aloft in its plastic bag.

"I'll drink it if you want; it's just non-alcoholic wine. It was to show her that I care. I'd never kill anyone, let alone Margaret. Here, let me show you."

He grabbed the bottle from Kate's grasp and quickly unscrewed the cap, downing a few gulps of the wine.

"Oi, that's evidence," said Emma. "Maybe," she added as she watched him drink it.

"I promise you. Now if you think Margaret was the intended victim, shouldn't we go and check on her?" he remarked, picking up his coat.

* * *

"So much for Miss Marple," said Kate.

"She was half right though, wasn't she? The glass was never intended for Helen."

"Just get him in the back of the car and keep an eye on him."

* * *

"So, what's going on?" asked David.

"It would seem that Margaret was the intended victim. We think someone is looking for a way to finish her off."

"But if it's not you..." said Emma.

"Which it isn't," he said. "What do you mean finish her off? Please explain."

"We've advised Margaret to go to the hospital as soon as she can, as it looks as though someone has been slowly poisoning her, with the intention of giving her the last dose on stage."

"That's horrible. Is that why she's been so ill? I can't believe it. If she hadn't been such a pain, people might have paid more attention to her."

Emma looked at him in the rear view mirror.

"I do love her, you know, regardless of her faults. Oh my god. Do you mean that when I knocked the glasses, I put them back the wrong way round and as a result Helen got the poison?" He swallowed and looked nauseated.

"It certainly looks that way, David," said Emma.

"Can you drive any faster?" he asked.

"With any luck she'll have already gone to the hospital," said Kate.

"Of everyone in the company, can you think of who would be most likely to want to kill Margaret?"

He was lost for words, not sure whether anyone would be capable, regardless of resentment.

"Anything? Grudges, past misdeeds?"

He suddenly looked up. "Geraldine."

Margaret Aitken's house

Emma called through the letterbox. "Hello? Margaret?" David appeared behind them.

"I thought I told you to stay in the car," said Kate.

He held a key up in front of them. A crash came from the kitchen. They hurriedly entered and found Margaret on the floor, a smashed glass at her side, a bottle of spirits on the worktop.

Kate leant over and listened to Margaret's chest and breath sounds. "She's still alive. David - call an ambulance now and tell them she's taken a high dosage of thallium. They'll need to give her the antidote. We have to go and pick up Geraldine."

"Wait," he called after them. "She'll be at the parents' evening; she's the school's secretary."

St. Mark's Primary School

"Child's name? Oh, it's you again," remarked the receptionist.

"Second time lucky," said Emma.

"Er, okay," she replied.

"Can you tell us where to find Geraldine Kettle?"

"She's over there by the display stands, pinning -"

"Thank you for your assistance."

Kate and Emma strode off in search of Geraldine, leaving the confused receptionist at her desk.

"Geraldine, can we have a word?" Kate called over.

"Oh, yes, no problem."

"We'd like to take you down the station for questioning about the attempted murder of Margaret Aitken."

"Margaret? Well, goodness, what happened?"

"We're hoping that you'll be able to fill in the gaps for us."

Geraldine chewed on her bottom lip and noticed Kate reach to her side to hold onto her handcuffs. Panicking, she grabbed the edge of a nearby table and swivelled, temporarily blocking Kate and Emma's path. She ran for the door.

Kate looked around and spotted a basket full of sports equipment. She picked up a netball and threw it with as much force as she could muster. They watched it swoop through the air.

Geraldine neared the exit just as the ball hit the wall and rebounded onto her forehead, knocking her to the ground.

"I knew all those years on the netball team would come in useful one day," said Kate as they ran towards the now dazed heap.

"Netball? I imagined you as more of a lacrosse girl," Emma commented as Geraldine sat up and Kate cuffed her.

Interview Room 1

"It seemed so appropriate, y'know. Death by poisoning. Margaret playing the role of Heather Badcock, the woman who is justly killed by Marina for exposing her unborn child to German measles," said Geraldine.

"What did Margaret do to you that justified attempting to kill her?" asked Kate.

"A few years ago she hit me with her car. I was just walking home. She was drunk and upset over some audition. It took me a long while in hospital to recover and it wasn't until last year that I was told by the doctors that I'd never be able to have children. It broke my marriage apart. I joined the company to see her again, to see if there was any remorse in her. There wasn't and she was the same old self-obsessed woman that ever she was."

"Did you know that she herself lost a child in the crash?"

Geraldine blinked, looking confused. "No, I didn't."

"How did you go about putting the poison in the drink?" asked Emma.

"I coated the inside of the glass that was meant for Margaret. You have to understand, I never meant for Helen to die. It was a last dose meant for Margaret."

"And how did you get into her house to plant the poison?"

"She let me in. I went round to help her practise her lines. I dropped a sleeping pill in her tea and while she was asleep I coated all the glasses in her cupboard. Over the weeks she became progressively more ill and yet still she showed no remorse, no feelings for how she's hurt me. So I suggested to David that he drop off some wine before parents' evening, hoping that she would use yet another glass from the cupboard and it would send her on her way."

CID office

A couple of weeks after the case a familiar face appeared in the department.

"Kate, dear. May I have a word?" asked June.

"Of course, Mrs Goodwill. It's nice to see you again." They went to one side.

"I wanted to drop this off. I won't stay." She handed Kate a bundle of paper which was bound at the side. "It's just a first draft but I think you get the idea." She leant in close, patting the top of Kate's hand. "I also wanted to impart a last piece of advice to you. I think perhaps you should try wearing your heart on your sleeve a little more," she said plucking at the arm of Kate's cardigan.

"Right," said Kate, not really understanding her meaning. "Um. Thanks for... this." She smiled and held the papers up.

* * *

"I'm not unemotional am I, Scribbs?"

"Oh, no." Emma thought about it for a second. "Well, not you're not exactly emotional either. More like passionate. Yes, passionate, with quite a lot of aggression and good grammar thrown in. What was that all about anyway?" she asked, taking the item from Kate's hands as Sullivan walked over to join them. Emma began to read out a small introduction which sounded like a summary on the back of a book. "Kim Dashforth and Ella Tribbings, together with their dashing superior Jim Solloman -"

Sullivan pursed his lips and straightened his tie.

"Oh, no. She didn't!" Kate exclaimed.

"- work for Upperton Police Department. Dash and Tribbs -" continued Emma.

"Oh I _ask_ you," responded Kate.

"- investigate the mysterious death of an amateur actress which occurs on stage mid-performance."

"Well, I'll tell you this for nothing: I shan't be buying a copy when it comes out."

"Er, Ash." Emma flicked through the pages. "This is a screenplay for a telly programme."

"For goodness' sake. Do they _honestly_ think we need any more murder mysteries on television?" said Kate incredulously.

Emma started laughing. "Actually, this is quite funny stuff. I wonder what happens to Dash and Tribbs in the end." She flipped to the last page. "Oh, right. _Well_ I wasn't expecting _that_."

"What? What's she written?"

Emma held the screenplay behind her back and out of Kate's reach. "You'll just have to wait and see, Ash."

* * *

**Next episode: **  
It's a clear-cut case of cold-blooded murder but Ash refuses to investigate. Will Sullivan have to take over the case and set the record straight?


	4. Giving Up

"On three. One. Two. Three." The glass panel shattered; pieces clattered to the floor. PC Gallimore pushed open the door and rushed into the house; he was closely followed by another male and then a female constable. While his colleagues checked downstairs, he fled upstairs to the bedroom and took a deep breath before entering. The first thing he saw were the blood saturated sheets. A couple lay on the bed, only the woman covered by the duvet. He walked over to her side cautiously. "'Ello. Can you hear me?" A sense of relief washed over him as the woman began to stir.

"Who?" she asked groggily.

"It's Andy Gallimore. Where are you hurt?"

She shivered out of her deep sleep and felt shaken by the noisy awakening. She became disorientated and confused when discovering dried blood on her hands and cheek. Instinctively, she pulled the covers up to her chin to conceal her nakedness. She went to turn, to look at her bed-partner, when Gallimore stopped her. He held her by the chin and said softly, "Don't. Don't look".

The two other officers arrived. "He's long dead," the man whispered and turned away to speak into the radio attached to his flak jacket.

The woman felt as though a stone had dropped from her heart to her stomach and a shiver drove its way down her spine.

The female officer spoke: "We're going to have to take you in."

Emma's mind was too addled to recognise the voice; she just knew that it wasn't Kate. Her heart raced and her breathing reached panic levels.

"I'll go and get something for you to wear and then we'll take you down the station. Okay?" asked the officer.

She nodded silently.

* * *

**Part 1**

* * *

Station examination room

The medical examiner scrutinised Emma for evidence of abuse and assault, taking samples from here and there and everywhere. She felt degraded. As they took scrapings from under her fingernails, she sat and wished she had never set foot outside the door the previous evening, and that Rick had never met her all those weeks ago. The same police officer, Samantha Dixon, who had been there in the morning, now collected her. Emma bowed her head as they passed her friends and colleagues. They came to stop outside a series of holding cells.

"A cell. Sam, I'm not sure I can." Emma looked at her with pleading eyes.

"I'm sorry, Emma, we have to. Someone will be along to collect you soon."

Emma watched as Samantha closed her in, leaving her completely alone. She sat down on the hard bunk and cried softly into her hands.

Kate's desk

Kate's fingers clattered across the keyboard; she tabbed through the various fields and began typing again. After having to correct several mistakes, she rested her elbows on the table and put her head in her hands. She was completely unable to concentrate knowing that Emma was being cross-examined in the interview room by DCI Sullivan. Placing her palms on the table she pushed down and raised herself from her swivel chair.

"I can't do this."

Interview Room 2

"Is there absolutely anything you can think of that might help us?" asked Sullivan.

Emma covered her eyes with her hand. "I can't think of anything. We went to the bar, we went back to mine, we had sex and I don't remember _anything_ else. Next thing I know, Gallimore is waking me up and I'm covered in blood."

"That must have been traumatising for you." Sullivan pulled out the chair opposite and sat down, clasping his hands on the table. He breathed deeply through his nose. "If it was self defence then we can -"

"I didn't _do_ anything," Emma demanded. "You have to believe me."

"I'm trying, really. But your prints were on the knife, Rick was in your bed and the doors and windows were locked. You know better than anyone that you're in a corner."

Emma felt overwhelmed by helplessness. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat as the rough cotton outfit she had been provided with itched her skin. "Where's Ash?" she asked quietly as she dug the soft toes of her plimsoll-like shoes into the floor.

"DI Ashurst has asked to be excluded from this investigation."

Emma was speechless. She crossed her arms over her chest, wanting to cry, wanting to be held.

"It's completely possible that your drink was spiked and that it had a..." his voice trailed off.

"Psychotic effect?" she offered impatiently.

"Self defence is a perfectly reasonable -"

"It didn't happen. I didn't kill him." But the more she denied it, the less sure of herself she became.

"Let's take a break. Interview terminated at 8.17am." He flicked off the recording device.

"Can I at least see Ash?" asked Emma.

"Give her time."

Monitoring room

The two screens sat side by side showing duplicate Emmas squirming in duplicate distress. Kate leant forward and switched off one of the televisions. She sat back, interlocked her fingers and squeezed; her knuckles became pale. She watched Sullivan leave the interview room and then heard a click behind her as he entered the monitoring room. He stood behind Kate and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. They watched Emma place her head on the table and bang a fist down. Kate swallowed down her brimming emotions.

"It's not looking good," said Sullivan. Kate did not turn to face him. "We can only hope they find something in her system."

"And if they don't?" Kate asked.

"Then she's going to need a very good solicitor."

"So then what? She's jailed for manslaughter instead of murder? That's hardly a comfort."

"We can't deny the facts, Ash."

"But this is Scribbs; she's not capable of... of..." she didn't want to say the word.

"We're all capable. And if the prosecution find that boyfriend she attacked with a cricket bat, well -"

"She thought he was an intruder."

"You know that won't matter to a jury."

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

"Everything by the book, Ash. That's all we can do. Just as with anyone else."

Kate sighed. "But this _isn't_ just anyone else."

Kate's desk

Kate spent the rest of the morning trying to concentrate on another case, but was finding it near impossible. When Sullivan came over to check on her she took the opportunity to ask a question.

"Please can I have her keys? I'm going to get her some clothes; I can't bear to think of her in those things." She held an outstretched hand out to him.

"That's not strictly -"

"Please." Her expression softened and she frowned. "I need to do something."

Sullivan pointed over his shoulder at the possessions desk. "Very well. Take your time. Clear your head. Don't disturb the crime scene."

Emma's house

Keys weren't necessary as the door was still broken open. An officer stood guard over the entrance way; they knew each other but Kate flashed her pass anyway.

"Good morning, ma'am," he said.

"Good morning," said Kate distractedly as she pushed the door over broken glass. She cautiously climbed the stairs and went to the bedroom. Feeling like a voyeur, she peered round the doorway. Police tape blocked the entrance so she had to duck underneath. Faced with the blood soaked bed, the gravity of the situation hit her hard; she became weak at the knees and nauseated. Leaving the room she quickly went back downstairs and sat on the sofa. She felt something lumpy behind her and she pulled it out. Holding up a blue woollen cardigan, resting it on her knee, she ruefully pulled at the weave with her thumbs. Collecting her thoughts she rose to have a look around for more clothes. In the washer-dryer she found underwear, a pair of corduroy trousers and a t-shirt. Air caught in her throat as she felt as though she were sorting through the possessions of someone dead and lost.

"Shoes?" she said to herself, and promptly discovered a pair of muddy running trainers by the back door. She slumped against the door frame and tried to resign herself to this much changed life. "What have you done, Emma?" she said under her breath.

* * *

On her way out, Kate turned to push the door shut. It was then that she noticed a partial boot print on the base of the door. She used her shoe to move the chunks of glass aside and took a closer look.

Sullivan's office

"You have to lift Emma's door to open and close it. Only someone who didn't know that would have had to put a boot to it."

"Maybe it was Rick or even the officers who had to force entry. With only a partial print we can't deem much."

Kate sank into the chair. "You're right, boss."

"The investigation is yours if you want it, Ash."

"No, I still feel the same; I don't want to be involved. I shouldn't have even gone to the house."

Cell 3

Sullivan entered the cell and stepped over to the bunk where Emma was lying. He placed a bag on the floor beside her.

"Scribbs," he said quietly when she didn't move. Her eyes were sore from crying and she held an arm across them to protect them from the harsh neon light. She sat up slowly to look at what he had brought; her body shuddered as she breathed. She quietly unzipped the holdall and pulled out the clothes.

"Thanks," she said, hugging them to her body, breathing in the familiar smell of the fabric conditioner.

"I'll leave you to get changed." An uncomfortable silence passed between them. He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, then exited the cell.

Left alone, Emma changed into the clothes, grateful for any faint sense of normalcy. Upon pulling on the cardigan she felt an object in one of the pockets - her wristwatch. She put it on and held it to her ear. Time was such a precious thing in a windowless room. She pulled out the shoes and noticed that they had been scrubbed clean. "Ash?" she wondered out loud, confused.

* * *

**Part 2**

* * *

Eileen Jenkinson's house

"Did you see or hear anything last night, Mrs Jenkinson?" asked DCI Sullivan.

"I'm afraid I didn't, dear, but then my hearing's not what it used to be. She's a lovely girl next door. Feeds my cat when I'm away. Sometimes brings me a bit of shopping when I'm laid up with me foot. She's not in too much trouble I hope?" The frail old lady tipped her head to one side and frowned.

"Do you have access to Miss Scribbins' house?"

"I've got a key if that's what you mean."

"Have you let anyone else use, or see, the key within the last few days or so?"

"No, dear, it's been on the key rack by the door, but I've had no visitors at all this week, apart from you that is." She placed her hand on Sullivan's and smiled.

CID office

"Why don't you come and talk to her?" Sullivan asked Kate.

"And you actually think I could look her in the eye? I thought I knew her." Kate rubbed at the back of her neck; she was tense.

"Would you interview his parents for me then?"

"I'm sorry, but I stand by my decision."

"Then maybe you shouldn't be here at all. Go home and have a think about where your loyalties lie." He sounded oddly angry.

Kate blinked and agreed.

Playback room

Sullivan watched CCTV footage from the previous evening of the Zed Bar's exit. He saw Emma and Rick leave the bar, hand in hand, happily falling about drunk. No one followed, nothing suspicious at all.

Kate's flat

Kate nudged food around her plate. She felt numb and the food seemed tasteless. Eventually she pushed her plate away. Turning the wine glass stem between her thumb and forefinger, she wondered whether Emma was holding something back. Was she keeping secrets from them? Most importantly, was she lying about not remembering the event?

Cell 3

"Eat something," said Gallimore.

"No thanks," replied Emma.

"You've got to stay strong."

"What for? I'm a hopeless cause."

"The DCI is doing everything he can. He'll work it out for you," he said kindly.

"Andy, is Kate still here? I need to talk to her."

"Sorry, Scribbs. She went home hours ago."

She bowed her head in response. Stray locks of hair fell into her line of vision and she scooped them back behind her ears.

* * *

Emma lay on her bunk, one foot flat on the floor beside the plate of untouched food. She stared up at the grey ceiling, tracing the cracks with her eyes. She sucked and bit on her bottom lip whilst winding a lock of blonde hair tightly around her finger.

_'I feel bloody sorry for anyone we've ever put in here,'_ she thought. Breathing deeply, she rubbed at her eyes. Time was slipping away, every minute extending into infinity. She looked at her watch; the second hand appeared to slow and she felt as though she would remain in that room forever. The lights flicked off, plunging her into darkness, and a fitful night's sleep began.

Kate's flat

Kate lay awake in her bed, restlessly shifting about under the covers, unable to sleep. Images of a murderous Emma flashed into her mind, instilling in her the idea that it was actually possible her partner was a killer. She ran a cold hand over her face and onto her forehead. Having solved numerous cases of murder she had confronted many culprits, and each time she was faced with the question, 'What makes a person become a murderer?' Any answers she had previously arrived at now seemed all the more intangible.

Cell 3

Emma held her watch to the base of the door to light its face, in order to read the time. Six o'clock was fast approaching and the sun would rise soon. She formulated a plan. Resolute in her decision, she called for the supervisory officer on duty by pressing the buzzer for assistance, and before long the keys jangled in the lock.

"Mike?" she asked in a quietly strained voice as the door opened.

"You okay?" he replied as he tucked the keys back into his pocket.

She held her head in her hands. "I feel really sick. Can you take me through to the toilets?"

"You've got a toilet there." He pointed to the corner.

"Please, Mike, I need to wash my face. I feel like death."

"Can you wait? 'Cause we haven't got a female officer on shift 'til six."

"Please? It's only me, it's not like I'll scarper or anything."

"Hm. Yeah alright. I'll just stand outside, okay?"

They walked together to the ladies' toilets and Emma entered. She turned on the tap of the middle sink and made a show of washing her hands. As she raised water to her face, the door closed and she was left alone. She quickly dried her hands, went into one of the cubicles and put down the lid of the toilet. Climbing up, she placed one foot on the lid and the other on the cistern. Reaching over she pulled at the handle of the window; it was tight and she struggled to move it. The door to the room opened slightly and she ducked back down out of sight.

"I won't be a minute," she called out.

"Err, right, yeah, okay," said Mike nervously, then closed the door again.

Emma cautiously stood up again and with a strong shove managed to get the window open, but as she did so her hand skidded forward and caught on a sharp edge of metal, cutting a line from her knuckle to thumb. She winced and almost cried out but the cut was not very deep and she contained herself. The window was small and not exactly an ideal means of escape. She pushed it as far as it would go. She looked out at the dim expanse of ground beneath the drop and took a deep breath.

* * *

A few minutes passed and Mike checked his watch. "I'm going to have to come in, Scribbs," he called through into the room. There was no response. He stepped in and saw that all the cubicles were empty. Cold air blasted in through the open window. "Shit." He ran out of the room and down the corridor, shouting into his radio.

Emma breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped out from behind the door, where she had been hidden before Mike entered the room. _'As if I'd try and squeeze through that,'_ she thought as she looked up at the window. She heard voices outside the building as they began their search. Holding paper towels to her wound, she covered it over with the sleeve of her cardigan. Ducking her way out and into the now empty corridor she made her way out to the rear exit of the building. She moved in and out of sight of the few people who were around before dawn. Reaching the back door she realised it was a no go zone as two officers were having a conversation, probably about her escape. She would have to try the front. Passing by the glass-doored locker room she typed in the door code and dived in to grab a uniform jacket. Pulling on a female officer's hat she tucked her hair up inside. Before she could exit, a cleaner entered and they almost bumped into each other.

"Mornin'," the cleaner said in a friendly manner.

"Morning," replied Emma, as she caught her foot on the mop and bucket, and stumbled.

"Careful, sweetheart. Cor blimey. You look like you need more sleep."

"Yeah. Tell me about it." Emma half smiled.

"Have a good one, dear."

"Thanks," Emma called back as she made her way out, walking steadily to the front doors. Before she knew it she was out and away. Stashing the hat in the bushes, she turned the jacket inside out to conceal the insignia and put it back on. Now she just had to find a phone box.

* * *

Emma had never seen Middleford High Street at this time of the morning, not sober anyway. Apart from shopkeepers unloading their goods, the roads were practically empty. The air was hazy and reflected her state of mind. Mist settled lightly on her coat. Spotting a familiar police officer on the beat, she ducked out of sight and into an alleyway. She watched as they stopped near the entrance way; holding her breath she felt as though the thud of her heart beat would give her away.

_'What _am _I doing?'_ thought Emma as she hunched down, back to the wall, behind a wheelie bin.

The officer seemed to be listening. He turned to look down the alley. Emma shut her eyes tight and held her breath. As the officer took a step towards the bin his radio buzzed into life and Emma heard a voice; the words were covered by white noise.

"You're kidding? I'll be right there," the officer responded to the call as he looked back to the road and strode off.

Emma breathed a sigh of relief.

Kate's flat

Kate's tired eyes slowly opened as she heard the phone ringing. She got out of bed and answered. An automated voice was asking if she would like to accept a reverse charge phone call from 'hopeparkwestgatenow'. She pressed the appropriate button to listen to the request again. This time round, when she heard the question asking whether she would like to accept the reverse charge call, she replied with a categorical "no" and hung up the phone. She recognised the trick; Emma had done it before as a way of avoiding call charges. Kate's hand hovered over the phone as she considered contacting the station. Before she could grab the receiver it began to ring. Hesitating for a moment, then ran back through to her bedroom to get dressed.

* * *

**Part 3**

* * *

Hope Park

The sun was peaking over the horizon, casting patterns of light through the mosaic of leaves on the trees. Emma sat on a park bench, elbows on knees, hands cupping her cheeks. She watched the world go by, appreciating it for its beauty. The familiar figure of Kate soon appeared and a bolt ran though Emma's chest; she leapt up and ran over to where Kate was standing.

"It's so good to see you," she said, positively relieved. Her face fell when Kate crossed her arms and turned away looking distinctly uncomfortable. "Ash?"

"Why are you putting me in this entirely impossible situation?" Kate asked without turning to face her.

Emma frowned and grabbed Kate at the elbow. "I had to see you. _Ash_, look at me, damn it." She tugged her coat to pull her round to face her, but just Kate looked down. "Do you know what I'm going through?"

Kate wanted to say how much _she_ was going through but held her tongue. Instead she said, "Running from the station isn't going to help your case". Keeping her eyes on the ground, she couldn't help but notice that Emma's trainers were, once again, covered in mud, and her heart gave a little flip.

"You do believe I'm innocent, don't you?" Silence. The morning birds twittered and the strong wind blew leaves around their feet. Emma had not considered that Kate might think she was guilty. "Don't you?" A lump formed in her throat and tears began to well up, blurring her vision.

Kate looked up into Emma's eyes but was still unable to say anything.

"Why won't you at least investigate this? Why won't you help me?"

Kate looked away again.

"You're the only person I really trust. Help me," Emma said desperately.

"I can't," said Kate flatly.

"Why?"

"Because... " Kate closed her eyes as she said it, not wishing to look at Emma's reaction. "Because I don't want to be the one to prove you guilty."

Emma looked aghast. "Then prove me innocent, Ash!" She stepped forward and grabbed the lapels of Kate's black woollen coat, one in each hand.

Kate frowned in sympathy with Emma's distress. She licked her lips, trying not to cry, jaw jutting forward as she sighed raggedly. "I'm just too involved with the case, with you. I categorically can't do this. I can't let the... I can't interfere; my judgement is so clouded."

Emma let her head drop as she sank to her knees, pulling Kate down with her. Dew soaked into the knees of Kate's jeans and into the shins of Emma's trousers as they sat back on the soles of their shoes. Kate held Emma tightly by the shoulders, wanting to pull her near but feeling unable to close the gap between them.

Kate noticed the damage to Emma's right hand, which was still clasped onto her coat lapel. She watched the blood soak through the paper towels.

"I'm sorry. I have to take you back now," apologised Kate. "Will you come quietly?"

Sullivan's office

Kate glared at Sullivan and crossed her arms. "If there is going to be one day when I'm insubordinate, then it's going to be today. I'm going to speak out of turn and demand that you don't punish her for running from the station."

"I wasn't going to."

She paced back and forth in front of his desk. "I mean of all the bloody foolhardy things... pardon?" She turned suddenly to face him.

"I'm not going to. She has enough on her plate."

"Right, well, good."

"Ash, are you all right? This must be hard for you too."

Kate turned on her heel and walked back and forth. "What did she expect me to do? Patch her up and keep her hidden?"

"To be honest, I think she just wanted to see you."

Kate's desk

Kate clicked back to the start of the audio file. She closed her eyes and listened again, holding the headphones to one ear. The girl sounded young and poorly spoken. She could be one of hundreds of teenagers who loitered in Middleford in the small hours. The 999 call had been made from a mobile phone, from which there had subsequently been no response. There would be no way to track down the girl who had called to report hearing the incident whilst walking past Emma's house on the night of the murder. Kate had so many questions for her. What exactly did she hear? Did she actually see anything? Why didn't she report it until the next morning, six hours after Rick's death? Had she been afraid? Was she drunk? Kate put the clip on loop and gradually dragged down the program's control bar for background noise. Nothing more became apparent. She sighed and tried another setting to enhance the noise. There was something she had not noticed before; she paused and clicked back. It was a faint beeping followed by the sound of a moving vehicle. At first she dismissed it as the signal from a pedestrian crossing but it was not quite right, nor did it appear to be a security alarm. It was some time before it occurred to her what it was. She called over an officer and sent her to find the street camera footage from the only place in town where it would be heard.

Interview Room 2

"DCI Sullivan interviewing Emma Scribbins."

"We have the results of the tests back."

"Anything?" she asked.

"They couldn't find anything conclusive, no."

Emma's shoulders sank. "It's not like on the telly, is it? They always find something on the telly."

Sullivan studied the report. "No sign of physical attack upon yourself. There was evidence of sexual contact, but..."

"I remember _that_ bit. I just can't remember anything after that."

"This is not the time to be facetious." He looked at her.

"I wasn't. I really wasn't. I'm just sick of going over the same things. I have been set up."

"Can you think of anyone who would have had a vendetta against you?"

"Pick anyone I have ever arrested."

"What about Rick?"

"I... don't know. I didn't know him all that well. We'd barely been dating a month," said Emma.

"Did you recognise anyone at the bar?"

Emma shook her head, "I don't think so."

"Did you notice anyone acting strangely?"

"I wasn't paying attention. We drank a lot."

"I have to ask: is there a history of violence or mental health issues in your family?"

"I had an auntie who kept an orange in a bird cage because she thought it was a budgie; does that count?"

He ignored her. "Ever had a blackout?"

"No, never." She looked dejected. "There's no hope for me, is there?"

"There's always hope, Scribbs."

Kate's desk

Kate had moved so little in the last hour that the movement detection lights had turned themselves off. She sat in the dark, lit only by the blue glow of the monitor screen, gaze still fixed on her reading material. She checked the computer clock; it was almost half past eight in the evening. One by one she skimmed old police case files for criminals who had been released from prison. She had built up quite a bundle of information and the thought of tracking them all down made her heart ache.

"I need a drink," she muttered to herself as she rose from the chair. The lights flashed back on and Kate blinked as her eyes adjusted to the brightness. The complement of skeleton staff barely acknowledged her as she made her way to the kitchen, and they made no mention of her late-night presence. She walked purposefully past the locker room, reconsidered and swivelled on her heel.

Cell 3

Emma turned uncomfortably in her bunk. Her blanket had twisted around her waist, pulling her tightly into the lumpy mattress. She yanked it free and turned back to lie on her other side, this time facing the wall. At first she thought she could hear her heart beating loudly but soon realised it was the sound of regular footsteps. A single beam of light pierced the darkness and illuminated the wall above Emma's head. It faded and she could sense she was being watched. _'Doesn't feel like the right time for the hourly check,'_ she thought, trying to look at her watch in the dim light. The silence in the room was screaming at her like tinnitus. Through the hum of nothingness she thought she heard a voice. Turning quickly to face the door, she breathlessly called out, "Ash?" but the spy-hole had been sealed. "Don't be stupid," she said to herself, and turned back to the wall. "She's not there".

Playback room

Kate could only see the back of the man but she watched carefully as he talked to a girl at a bus stop. An exchange took place and the girl made a call from a mobile phone. Kate paused the video and checked the time against the 999 call: it was a match. If she was right, the girl was paid to place the call. It was small but enough to give Kate a glimmer of hope.

Eileen Jenkinson's house

Kate rang the bell and waited, hands in pockets, foot tapping on the step. Eileen opened the door and Kate flashed her pass.

"I'm really sorry to disturb you at this hour. I'm DI Ashurst of Middleford CID. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

Eileen squinted at Kate's identification. "It's a bit late, dear, but all right. Come in."

They sat at the dining table, Eileen with her fleecy, peach-coloured robe buttoned up to the chin.

"I need you to think: at any time in the last one, two or possibly even three months, has there been anyone in the house who you didn't know personally?"

"Goodness, Inspector. Well, there's always tradesmen. I had work done on the bathroom, and then there's the gas man."

"I see. Yes, of course," replied Kate sullenly.

"And then there was the policeman. He was very nice."

"Right, yes. DCI Sullivan."

"No, dear, though he was nice too. This one was a few weeks ago."

Kate's car

Kate jumped back into her car and flicked on the overhead light. She rummaged through the various files and papers on the passenger seat and eventually found what she was looking for. "I'd better not be wrong about this." She pulled on her seat belt. The wheels of the car squeaked as she revved up the engine, pulling out into the quiet night road.

* * *

**Part 4**

* * *

The Zed Bar

"No, I'm sorry, love. Don't know the face; we get an awful lot of punters through here."

_'This is pointless,'_ thought Kate as tiredness set in. _'He wouldn't risk being seen; he'll have paid someone to do his dirty work.'_ A young barman squeezed past Kate and she caught him by the jacket. "Do you recognise this man?"

He began to sweat and chewed his middle finger. "No. No, never seen him, sorry." He pulled his way out of her grasp. Kate followed him outside and found him emptying rubbish into one of the bins. He looked startled when she came up behind him and showed her ID badge.

"Are you quite sure you don't know him?"

He scuffed his feet and then made a dash for it. Kate ran after him. He slipped on a Coke can and stumbled. Kate took her opportunity to push him up face-forward against the wall and force his arm behind his back.

"Correct me if I'm wrong but people who run _usually_ have something to hide."

"Look, I seen him alright?"

"And... "

"And nuffin'," he said.

"I can arrest you as an accessory to murder if you prefer."

"Wha? Alrigh', alrigh'. He gave me fifty quid to slip somethin' in the drink," he said conciliatorily.

"Whose drink?"

"This blonde bird and her boyfriend. Oww, don't press so 'ard. He said it was drugs to make them go off their heads. He said he knew them and that it was a joke. I aren't no killer."

She released him and he scurried back into the bar.

"Don't leave town. We'll be contacting you for a statement," she called after him. Kate flipped open her mobile and dialled. "I need a check running with the parole office. Now."

Northfields Estate

Kate tentatively pressed the doorbell and stood back, running a finger along the line of her shirt collar. Seconds ticked by until the door finally opened.

"Good evening. I was wondering if you might be able to help me with my enquiries. My name is Detective Inspector Ashurst and I work for Middleford CID."

"Sullivan's lot," said the tall stocky man, whose name was Ray.

"That's correct."

"I've heard of your division. You suburbanites don't know what it means to be a real copper."

Kate shrugged. "Perhaps then you could tell me why I'm here."

"Advice from an old pro, p'rhaps?"

"I'm surprised you're not quaking in your boots," said Kate, narrowing her eyes.

"And why should I be doing that?" he asked as he shrugged his shoulders.

"Because you never expected us to make the connection. The connection between you and the murder of Rick Scott."

"I don't even know who that is," he laughed back at her, shaking his head.

Kate followed him into the front room. "I suppose you think you're clever. Using all your knowledge as a police officer to head us off at every pass; a perfect crime scene lain out for us ready to point the finger." She jabbed a finger in his direction.

"Pray tell m'lady, at who am I s'posed to be pointin' fingers?" he said sarcastically.

"You know full well who. You can act all unknowing but I'm here to tell you that you're not as infallible as you think you are. The 999 call, for instance. You were wise enough not to make the call yourself, I'll give you that, but you didn't choose the location very well: near a level crossing? Now that was careless. Even more careless was letting yourself be caught on CCTV whilst talking to a young girl at a bus stop next to that crossing. What was the deal? She makes the call and in return she gets to keep the phone, while you destroy the SIM? Am I getting warm? Or perhaps you always deal in cash?"

She paused for a reaction but Ray stood solidly without flinching.

"The young bartender certainly must have been happy with his fifty pounds for five minutes' work. What else is there? Let's see. As an ex-officer you know it's a crime to impersonate a policeman, and that's exactly what you did to gain access to the neighbour's house so that you could make a copy of a spare key. It must have been very neat being able to let yourself in and lock the door on your way out. After all, why would we ever suppose that someone would go to so much trouble to cover their tracks?"

"Are you finished? Why don't you just shove off and leave me in peace?"

Kate stood her ground. "We have two witnesses already who can connect you to the crime and a third if we can find the girl. That's enough for us to search this place, for starters."

"Go ahead," he said sternly as he stepped forward to invade her personal space.

She needed more. She needed to provoke him. _'Come on, Kate - think. How do I squeeze the information out of him?'_ she thought, and then she realised. "Did you think about killing her?"

He just glared back.

"Was that not good enough? Your idea of retribution was to frame her for a murder which you would commit and she would serve the sentence. I bet that sounded really good - just deserts. How long did you spend planning it? All that time in prison? And then to prepare? Well, you've been out for three months; that's more than enough. If only she hadn't testified against you all those years ago, you'd have never been jailed for manslaughter. If she'd never walked in on you with the gun in your hand, you could have been away and free. Spoilt all your plans, didn't she?"

His face loomed closer to hers but she steeled herself.

"Didn't she? The day you cold-bloodedly murdered your partner."

He gritted his teeth but still refused to speak.

"I'm not going to let _my_ partner down. I will move heaven and earth to prove her innocent and you guilty." Kate practically spat the words at him. "Raymond Stabeller, I am arresting you on suspicion -" Her speech was halted as he grabbed her shoulder.

"I am not going down again. You were wrong to underestimate me," he said with hatred in his eyes.

Kate looked down and suddenly noticed the small gun grasped in Ray's free hand. He grabbed her tightly, holding the barrel to her chest, squeezing the trigger gently. He leaned in and spoke directly into her ear. "It was so easy, so perfect."

The closeness of him made her cringe and shiver. She attempted to pull her ear away from his mouth.

"I guess this means you're going to be my number three. Shame I can't set her up for your murder, too. That bitch ruined my life."

"You ruined your life the moment you committed murder." His grip raised tears to Kate's eyes.

"Do you know how easy it was? It was as easy as this."

A sudden panic rose in her, akin to that feeling when your mind knows that even if you ran until your lungs burned with pain you would still be too late, but your body wants to try. A rush of adrenaline helped her to make one bid for flight, for to fight would be foolhardy.

She struggled free of him but managed only a few steps backwards before he pulled the trigger. Kate was thrown against the wall by the force of the impact. She slumped to the floor, unable to breathe properly. With a bang, the front door slammed wide open and two uniformed officers ran in and dived on Ray, pulling him struggling out of the door.

"Ash." Sullivan rushed in and knelt down beside Kate.

She grappled at the buttons of her suit jacket, frowning with pain.

"Are you ok?" he asked.

"Can't breathe."

Sullivan helped her off with her coat and jacket. He plucked free the crushed bullet which was nestled in the fabric of the padded metal bullet-proof vest. "Souvenir?"

"No thanks." Kate groaned with pain as Sullivan released the velcro from her shoulders and pulled the armour free.

"Let's get you to hospital. I'm not taking any chances with you."

Kate carefully unpinned the wire she was wearing and handed the recording device to Sullivan. "Did you get everything we need?"

"Yes. You did brilliantly, Ash."

"Thank god he was the bragging type. He should know that I _never_ underestimate anyone." As they walked outside, Sullivan supporting Kate's weight, they passed Ray being forced into the back of a police van. "By the way, you have to _lift_ Emma's door to get in. I'm sure the boot print will come in handy!" He snarled at her. "Idiot," she muttered.

Cell 3

The heavy steel door groaned as it slowly eased open. Emma was on her side, curled up on the uncomfortable bed, a coarse itchy blanket covering her. She blearily watched the pattern of light grow larger as the door swung wider. A dark figure stood in the corridor, silhouetted.

"Scribbs, I've come to get you out of here" Kate sat down beside Emma, who sat up and moved to one side.

"Breaking me out?" Emma said sarcastically as she massaged her right shoulder. "I've tried that and it didn't help."

Kate ignored the comment. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry I wasn't ready to believe you." She took Emma's left hand in her own hands and stroked the back of her wrist with her thumb. "I should have trusted you." Unable to look up into Emma's eyes, she kept her gaze on the back of her hand. "You were framed by someone you testified against; your suspicions were right."

Emma placed her free hand on top of Kate's; the wound was now dressed and covered in gauze. "Who was it?" she asked calmly. The fear and dread which had so consumed her drained from her body.

"Ray Stabeller. It was a case you were involved in when you -"

"When I was in uniform. I remember. The... " She paused and swallowed as she thought about Ray in her bedroom. "Bastard should have gone down for murder."

"Well, now he will."

Emma was silent. She was tired and after two days in the station under lock and key, she finally felt as though she might be able to sleep. A thought struck her. "Ash. I really don't want to go home. I don't know if I can face it yet."

Kate looked up and their eyes met. "I'm going to drive you to my flat and you're going to stay with me." She considered how controlling she sounded and added, "If you want?"

"Please."

"I promise I will let you sleep in," she smiled, trying to prompt a smile from Emma. Kate felt her throat tighten and her smile faded.

Emma leant closer until their shoulders touched. Sitting in silence they simply looked into each other's eyes.

Kate could still see that Emma was feeling hurt and she frowned. "I -" She was interrupted by the appearance of Sullivan in the doorway.

"Scribbs, I'm very glad this ordeal is over. I never liked locking you up, you know. If you ever need anyone for a talk, or a hug, you can come to me." He casually leant against the door frame and smiled.

"I appreciate everything you've done, boss."

"Don't thank me, thank Ash. She figured it out." He folded his arms and nodded at Kate.

"But I thought..." Emma frowned and looked expectantly at Sullivan.

"Even made the arrest herself. Thanks to her sagacious nature, the risk -"

"Boss," interrupted Kate, "Let's not bore Scribbs with the details. I'm sure she's very tired," she said pointedly.

"Yes, of course. Now. Scribbs. You take as much leave as you require; you've been through a lot."

Emma nodded, mouth open, unsure quite what to say.

"Ash, good work. Ladies, goodnight," and with that he left.

Emma looked back to Kate. "I thought... I... You said you wouldn't investigate the case. What made you change your mind?"

"You're Emma. Just kind, sweet, silly, smiley Emma."

"I thought you were going to say something else then. I was preparing myself to be offended," she joked. The realisation that she would be free gave her a sense of elation and headiness. Not that a little actual intoxication would go amiss.

Kate had wanted to go on, to say that Emma was not a malicious person, never unkind and certainly not a murderer. That she should have been there for her from the outset, when Emma needed her most. She blinked and looked up at the grey ceiling, guilt swelling in her chest.

Emma could feel the inner turmoil that Kate was going through. "Look at me. It's fine. You came through for me and that's what matters." She squeezed Kate's hand. "Honest."

Kate still looked sorrowful.

"Come here." She beckoned Kate into a close hug. "Thank you for not giving up on me."

Emma clung on tightly despite the throbbing ache in her hand. She grasped Kate as firmly as she could. Kate winced with the pain in her bruised chest but, regardless, she too held onto Emma and squeezed tighter, attempting to embrace away the hurt she had caused.

* * *

**Next Episode:**  
Will Ash and Scribbs' friendship recover from their previous trial? Sent undercover at a top hotel to investigate the links between the deaths of three clients, will they resolve it before their tensions get the better of them?


	5. Closed Doors

Warm orange light bathed the magnificent Georgian building and moonlight glinted off the adjacent lake. Night was fast closing in; a chill wind blew the flowers by the entrance to the Grange Hotel. Inside, every room told a different story of life, love and betrayal.

"I'm not speaking to you about it and that's the last of it," Dawn shouted, storming out of the front doors, stilettos slipping into the gravel. Suddenly she stopped. She watched the trees fall out of sight and the ground came fast against her head. Unable to take deep breaths, her lungs took short, shallow gulps of air. The blood gently pooled under and around her. With dulled senses she caught sight of her attacker watching over her, then disappearing. Dawn felt pressure under her arms and the sensation of being lifted. The hotel drifted out of view and beneath her the ground changed from gravel to muddy earth, and above, the skies from cloud to stars. She heard someone speaking.

"This _will_ be the last of it."

Dawn watched the moon wobble and blur. Struggling to keep her eyes open, she soon became enveloped by the dark and murky waters.

* * *

**Part 1  
**

* * *

Emma's house

A radio played noisily in the corner of Emma's bedroom. Dust sheets lined the floor and there was an empty space where you would expect a bed to be. Kate stood halfway up the stepladder and squinted as she concentrated on the detail of her work. She wore jeans and a pale grey v-neck top which, unlike Emma's clothes, showed barely any evidence of paint marks. Atop her head she wore a dark red kerchief that was tied in a small knot at the nape of her neck, beneath her ponytail. Her glossy, dark brown fringe was not concealed beneath the cloth. Emma, who was wearing a tight England football t-shirt and jeans, worked beneath her. She made large sweeping movements with her roller, slickly spreading the colour on the walls, bouncing to the music. Kate leaned forward and momentarily lost her balance; she steadied herself by placing a hand on the wall.

"Oh piss," she said as she pulled back and looked at her hand, which was now covered in pale lilac paint. She descended, indending to go and wash her hands, but Emma stood in her way.

"You can't always be so immaculate."

"I can try, can't I?" asked Kate.

"Nope, I won't allow it." Emma shook her head.

"Well, there's not much you can do about that." Kate made an attempt to move around Emma.

"Oh no?" Leaping forward, Emma grabbed Kate's painty hand and forced it back onto her chest. Kate now had a perfect handprint over her right breast.

"I'm going to have to get you for that."

"Can't make me look any worse than I already do," said Emma, holding out her arms to show the state of her clothes.

"Oh, a challenge?"

"Bring it on, Ash." Emma proceeded to shake her bum in time with the heavy beat music, making Kate laugh. Through the music Kate heard a voice calling out. She went over to the window and leant out. DCI Sullivan was looking up at her.

"Ah, Ash. Can you let me in? I wanted to have a word with the both of you," he said.

Kate reached into her jeans pocket and dropped a key out to Sullivan, who deftly caught it in one hand. She watched him enter the house. Emma looked over to Kate at the window and was unable to resist the sight. She placed her hand in the paint tray and then against the left buttock of Kate's jeans. Kate's eyes widened. Behind her, Emma laughed uncontrollably.

"Right. You're for it." Kate pushed her sleeves up to the elbows and started chasing Emma around the room. They fought each other for the roller; Kate ended up with a blob of paint on her nose and Emma with a streak of paint in her hair and a lilac forearm.

Emma wielded the roller at Kate. "You are such a gonner, Ash. I'm so going to get you now," she announced.

Kate gulped and began quickly backing her way out of the doorway, only to bounce off something, which turned out to be Sullivan. He too now had a hand print, on his thigh, received from Kate's bottom. She turned to him, wrinkled her painty nose and looked apologetic. "Sorry. I think the paint fumes got to us a bit." She turned to Emma and gave her a look that, had they been at school, would have said 'Look at the trouble you've got me into'. Emma turned away from them both and giggled silently.

"I can see you're back to your usual self, Scribbs. I was hoping you would come back to work."

"Yes, boss. I'd be happy to come back."

"Glad to hear it." He held the front door key out to Kate. "See you bright and early then. We've got an undercover assignment for you both."

CID Office

"Chambermaid?" Emma remarked, sitting up in her seat and grinning. "Do I get a cute outfit?"

"Does she actually have to clean?" Kate leant forward and waved her hand about.

"Actually, yeah, do I have to clean?" asked Emma, starting to look worried.

"I don't know, and yes," replied Sullivan.

"Is that wise, boss? I mean, Scribbs isn't exactly... "

"That's right. I'm not exactly... well - I'm not Ash."

"Domestic goddess or not, that is the role that has been assigned you."

"Hmph. So what's Ash?" asked Emma, pouting.

"Ash will be a hotel guest."

"Oooh, I like the sound of that," said Kate as she sat back in her chair, folding her arms over her chest, looking smug.

"I will also play my part," said Sullivan.

"So you are?" questioned Kate as she picked up the hotel brochure.

He turned to Kate. "Your husband." Seeing the look on her face, he added, "But just for the purpose of phone calls and perhaps a fleeting visit. I won't be staying at the hotel."

"So what's the case?" asked Emma.

"In the last seven months there have been three individual murders, all of which were of wealthy business men. All were committed in the same fashion, same markers. Barnes and Curtis have been looking into the case and believe the perpetrator to be a hired killer."

"Any leads?" asked Kate.

"We have one spouse in questioning who said that she received a letter regarding the unfaithfulness of her husband, inviting her to buy their services."

"How very civilised. Murder via mail merge."

"She says she has destroyed the letter and we only have one large withdrawal from her bank account to back up her story. However, there is one thing that ties them all together."

"They all stayed at this hotel?" suggested Emma, grabbing the brochure out of Kate's hands.

"Exactly. We need someone on the inside who hasn't visited or stayed at The Grange Hotel before. I trust that you both haven't."

"It is priced just a _little_ beyond our reach, boss," said Kate.

"Yeah, like triple the salary beyond," added Emma.

"The hotel chain directors are fully aware of the situation and have given us free rein on the facilities. They're letting us do this so we can eliminate them from their enquiries. None of the staff will be made aware of the investigation, so you have complete anonymity. Speaking of which, here are your names and briefs. I'll let you get acquainted with your new personalities." He passed a folder to each of them and walked off.

Emma's had a label on it which read Emily Saunders. She looked across to Kate and saw that her pseudonym would be Kirsty Arundel. "I see they've used our initials."

"Probably so you don't forget your fake name," said Kate, cocking her head to one side momentarily.

"I've never forgotten mine," Emma said, crinkling her brow.

"No, but you _have_ forgotten mine in the past."

"Just once, and I covered for it, didn't I?"

"Much to my and that nun's embarrassment."

"Can't help what sprang to mind."

Sullivan strolled back in. "Oh and ladies, I forgot, Scribbs, you start work at eight tomorrow morning. Ash, you check in after two. Scribbs?"

"Yes, boss?" she looked up.

"Please try to memorise your cover names. We don't want another Helena Handbasket incident."

She squinted one eye and drew up her cheek. "No, boss."

The Grange Hotel

Sullivan pulled the car up to the entrance, gravel crunching beneath the wheels. He got out, removed the suitcase from the boot and walked over to one of the door staff who was standing at the entrance to the hotel. Returning to the car, he opened the door for Kate; she gracefully swung her legs out and stood up.

"Thank you," she said.

"I'll speak to you later." He offered her his cheek. Kate quickly kissed it and walked off.

She strode towards the hotel entrance with as much aplomb as she could muster. Her mobile rang and she stopped to answer it. "Hello?"

"A little less military, perhaps?" commented Sullivan, who had been watching her from the car.

"Right. Yes, boss. Er... husband." Kate bit her lip, trying to summon Sullivan's fake name.

"Jack."

"Jack. Sorry."

"Just relax and you'll be fine." He hung up and drove off, leaving her on her own.

Housekeeping room

"So what happened to the girl I replaced?" asked Emma as she loaded trays with packets of sugar and pots of milk.

"Oh, she just walked out last week. Didn't even work her notice," responded Zoe, one of the other housekeeping staff, who had been put in charge of showing Emma the ropes.

"How come?"

"Dunno. I think she was after bigger and better things. That, and she and our manager we're always at it, hammer and tongs, in his office."

"Doing what, sex?"

"No! Arguing!" giggled Zoe, cutting her way through the plastic wrapping of a mammoth bundle of toilet rolls.

"Were they in a relationship?"

"Her and him? No, Dawn wouldn't be up for that. She was a classy lass. Nicholas Howgego, that's our manager, is a bit of a weed."

"How many people work here, then?"

"At any one time, I'd say thirty, forty, probably more."

Emma carried a bale of towels over to the trolley, wondering just how she was going to delve into possible connections to the murders with so many people to become familiar with.

Kate's room  
Emma sat on the edge of the bed.

"I wondered when I'd be seeing you," said Kate as she carefully pulled clothes from her suitcase and proceeded to hang them in the wardrobe. "How are you getting on?"

"I'm alright. Sort of reminds me of the first day at school." Emma scrunched up her nose.

Kate turned around and looked at Scribbs in her practical royal blue housekeeping dress, and noticed other changes in appearance. "Since when do you have highlights in your hair?"

"I just decided Emily was the kind of girl who had highlights," replied Emma as she grabbed a lock of her hair and examined it, pouting.

"Personally, I prefer Emma's hair."

"Well, what does Kirsty think?"

"She thinks, 'What's this strange woman doing in my room?'"

"Fair point."

"So... Sullivan and you are husband and wife..." Emma said, swinging her legs back and forth.

"Figuratively speaking."

"Do you think he's arranged this so he can get close to you?"

"I highly doubt it, Scribbs. If he _is_ interested in me, then he's got a bloody funny way of showing it. Why?"

"No reason." Emma shook her head.

"Jealous?" asked Kate.

"Trust me, Ash, I have no interest in Sullivan. Way over that one. Way, way over. Way -"

"Yes, thank you, I get the point."

"What about you?" asked Emma.

"What about me?"

"Are you over Sullivan?"

"You're being weird again, Scribbs."

There came a knock at the door. Kate looked around and noticed that Emma was no longer sitting on the bed; she was under it. Emma pressed a finger to her lips. "I'm s'posed to be working," she whispered.

Kate rolled her eyes and walked around the bed to answer the door.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Arundel. I'm so sorry I couldn't be here to greet you when you arrived. I'm the manager of The Grange and I want you to know that you" - he pointed at her - "as our guest" - he made a welcoming gesture - "are our priority. Anything you might need, just let us know, and we'll find it for you." He spoke in a grating nasal tone.

"I will be sure to bear that in mind."

"As a token of our esteem, we would like to give you this complimentary gift basket."

"Oh, that's very kind. Thank you." Kate took the basket, which was laden with exotic fruits, chocolates and champagne, and placed it on an ornately decorated chest of drawers.

"I shall leave you in peace, in order that you might enjoy everything that our hotel has to offer."

Kate tried not to let the feelings of cringeworthiness show in her smile as she closed the door. "He was just a walking advert, wasn't he, Scribbs?" Kate walked around the bed and crouched to talk, but Emma was gone. "Scribbs? Where'd you go?" She looked up to see Emma busy rooting through the basket. Kate coughed.

Emma turned. "We're partners, we're supposed to share."

* * *

**Part 2**

* * *

Emma's room

Emma surveyed the room in which she would be sleeping. _'This can't be right.'_ She checked the report again for the room number. She rolled her eyes. The room seemed to house all sorts of items in a state of disrepair. Spare trolleys, an old double mattress leant up against the wall, numerous stacked paintings and lamps. _'It's like an upper-class jumble sale,'_ she thought.

"You alright there?" came a voice from behind her. Emma jumped. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. You new?"

"Yeah. Got a bit lost. I'm Emily."

"I can see that from your badge. Nice to meet you. I'm Gavin." He gave a large smile and offered his hand.

Emma shook it and pointed at the lapel of his uniform suit jacket. "I can see that from yours, too."

"Oh yeah," he said, looking down, chuckling.

"Gavin! There you are." Another chambermaid came running round the corner. "I've been looking for you everywhere."

"Janie, this is Emily."

"Oh. Hi," she said, not paying any attention to Emma whatsoever. "We have to go, Gav, Nicholas is looking for you. I said you'd gone to the toilet but he's being really uptight about having someone on the front desk every second."

Gavin turned to Emma. "Our manager is a bit uptight about everything."

Janie pulled on his arm. "C'mon, Gavin."

"Hey, Emily. We're going out for drinks tonight if you fancy it. Meet in the kitchens at seven, yeah?" he said as Janie dragged him off by the sleeve.

"Yeah, sure," Emma called out.

Hotel spa

Kate's face contorted in pain.

"Madam, I will need you to relax if you wish for the full benefit." The masseuse's fingers dug deeply into Kate's taut shoulders and back. "My dear lady, you are quite the most tense person I have ever massaged."

Kate began to wish she had never taken the hotel up on its offer of the complimentary treatment as she winced into the padded pink leather table. "So." She mouthed an 'ow'. "What's it like to work here?"

"It's very nice, madam."

"Yes, but really..." Kate closed one eye as Olga drove her elbow into her shoulder blade. "Honestly, is it really a good place to work?"

"You're not one of those secret hotel inspectors are you?" whispered Olga.

"No." She replied in a strained voice between jolts of pain.

"The pay is okay and the staff are happy enough."

"I hear the hotel has a reputation for guests having affairs here."

"Well, madam, I'm sure that could be said for half the hotels in the world."

Kitchens

With an opportunity to check out the kitchen staff, Emma got changed in her room and went down a little early.

"Heya," she said to one of the resident chefs, raising one hand with the other wedged firmly in her back pocket.

The man barely acknowledged her as he was carefully carving fruit into delicate shapes. "Hey."

"This isn't quite the hive of activity I would have expected it to be," she commented.

"Give it half an hour," he said, sitting up and wiping his hand on his apron. He stood up, pulled off his chef's cap to reveal his bleach blonde hair and shook her hand. "Scott."

"Emily."

"Oh yeah. Replacing Dawn, eh? Do you turn the same tricks that she did?"

"Tricks?"

"Nothing. Popular with the men, that's all. What're you doing down here anyway?"

"Going out for drinks with some of the day staff." Emma walked around the kitchens as Scott went back to the fridges and started arranging things. She looked up at a magnetic board of knives, scissors and cleavers on the walls. "Are you missing a knife?"

He looked out from behind the fridge door and squinted. "Nope, it's the one I'm using. Bit inquisitive, aren't you?"

Emma stepped back and ran her hand along the work surface.

"Watch out – squids," Scott called out.

"What for?" replied Emma.

"I just said. There, on the counter."

Emma turned to see a heaped pile of squid ready to be prepared. She grimaced. "Oh," she said, shaking her head. "Sorry, I misheard and thought you were calling my... er... erf... nevermind."

Gavin strolled in wearing jeans, a jumper and a scarf. "Evenin'." He grabbed Emma by the elbow and gently kissed her cheek. As he stepped away, he looked down and cautiously picked up her right hand. "Oh god, have you cut yourself?"

"Oh, this?" Emma said, looking at the wound on the back of her hand. "No, that's weeks old. Healing now. I... I cut my hand opening a window." There did not seem much point in changing the actual event. There also did not seem much point adding, 'When escaping from Middleford Police Station'.

"Nasty. Well, as long as you're alright." He looked at her kindly.

Janie and Zoe strolled in, dressed up, arm in arm and chatting away. Bradley, another front desk man, followed closely behind.

"Right," said Janie. "Let's go."

"Have fun, kids," Scott called out mockingly.

Kate's room

From the window of her room, Kate watched Emma leave via the back door and cross the rear car park with a selection of staff from the hotel. They laughed and chatted, seeming very at home with each other. Kate decided to go down to the bar for a drink. Perching atop a tall bar stool she ordered a gin and tonic from the bartender, whose name, she noticed, was Alejandro. She played with a pianist request card she had found on the bar, twirling it between her fingers.

Noticing that she seemed sad and lonely, the barman attempted to talk to Kate. "So, Miss... ?"

"Mrs. Arundel. Kirsty." At first she felt like ending the conversation there, but then reconsidered, remembering that this was an investigation. With her police officer's head back on, she spoke. "My husband suggested that I take a break. He reserved a room for me here."

"You needed a holiday?"

"I expect it's a ploy to have me out of the house so he can have one of his mistresses to stay."

"Forgive me for saying, but he did not book one of the more luxurious rooms for you."

"He's cheap."

Alejandro tutted. "Ah, he should not treat you this way. If a man is going to cheat on a woman, he should at least book her the most luxurious room, no?" He tipped his head down to look her in the eyes and Kate smiled in response. "It's okay. Life takes you on interesting drives, no? Ups and downs. You'll be okay. Have another drink. This one on the house."

Hotel restaurant

Kate sat alone and toyed with the food on her plate whilst watching the other guests eating. She paid particular attention to the men eating alone, trying to see if they made advances on thewaitresses. Any one of them could be a target. An old, balding, porcine man wearing an expensive three-piece suit was being served by a blonde waitress. Kate's thoughts were drawn to Emma. She could not help but wonder what she was getting up to with her newfound friends.

A waiter approached to clear her plates. "Can I interest you in anything from the sweet trolley, madam?"

"Do you happen to have anything with an inordinate amount of chocolate and alcohol in it?"

The Revolve Bar

"Yeah, that one, the plonker that felt my arse up." Janie gestured wildly as she spoke, almost shouting to make herself heard over the din. "Thing is, next day I go into his rooms to sort out his towels and I find him in the bath in the altogether. He's only slipped and can't get out. He didn't half look sorry for himself. It was awful. We had to get a couple of porters to lift him out." Everyone listened patiently as she finished. "So..." she looked around the circle of people. "Emily, got any good stories?"

"Naa, not really, quite uneventful," replied Emma, shrugging.

"Come on," said Gavin, who blinked puppy eyes at her.

Emma reminded herself of the case. "I did discover a dead bloke once, but he was old, and personally I wouldn't mind popping my clogs in a four-star hotel." She was hoping they might mention customer deaths, but thin smiles were the only responses, so she tried a different tack. "I tell you, though, this place is good for extras. The man in Suite Four gave me a ten pound tip, just for talking to him about his problems for ten minutes. He really needs a therapist but I wasn't complaining."

"Did he say anything good?" asked Janie as she linked her arm through Gavin's and leant lazily against him.

"Good?" asked Emma.

"Y'know, juicy," said Janie.

"Gossipmongerer," interjected Zoe, who was nuzzling into Bradley's side.

"So what if I am?" Janie pouted. "I just think people are interesting. Take that dark-haired woman that turned up yesterday - the one who's in one of the crap rooms at the back, overlooking the kitchens. Did you see her husband? Cor, what a hottie. But does she look happy? Does she buggery. It's like someone's taken the life out of her."

"You should go ask her if she wants any therapy, eh Em?" Zoe nudged her in the side and Emma downed a shot.

* * *

The night was wearing on and, uncharacteristically, Emma was beginning to worry about staying out too late in case she slept in late for work. Bradley sat in a corner of the small crowded bar; he was kissing Zoe drunkenly. Zoe had her back against Gavin, who was trying to drink his pint without spilling it.

"Gavin is such a catch, isn't he?" asked Janie.

"He's yours, then?" guessed Emma.

"Soon will be," replied Janie, looking over the edge of her drink at Gavin, predatorily.

"Ah. He seems nice."

Janie turned to Emma and narrowed her eyes. "Touch him and I'll kill you."

* * *

**Part 3**

* * *

The Grange Hotel

Emma slunk up the staff flight of stairs and went quickly and quietly through to Kate's room. She pushed her universal key card into the slot and entered, closing the door carefully behind her so as not to attract any attention from other guests. She could hear the rush of water and realised Kate was in the shower. As she listened more closely she could hear her dulcet-toned singing voice. Emma leant back, bent her knee and placed a foot flat on the wall to steady her stance. She closed her eyes and listened to the song. She stood like that, by the entrance to the bathroom, with crossed arms, for what seemed like an age before the water and the singing stopped. Kate exited the bathroom clad in a thick white towelling dressing gown and jumped at the sight of Emma, her hand flying to her chest with surprise.

"Sorry, didn't mean to sneak up on you."

"Have you been here long?" asked Kate.

"Just got here."

"Well now you're here, shall we have some coffee?"

"Yes please." Emma followed her through to the seated area and plumped down onto the lush two-seater sofa, put her feet up and began plucking at the tassels of one of the cushions.

Kate made two cups of coffee and passed one to Emma before sitting down in an armchair opposite her. "How did you get on?" she asked.

Emma looked up and could not help but notice the smooth, pale skin of one of Kate's thighs, which had been exposed as she sat down. Kate noticed the direction of Emma's look and so crossed her legs and covered her knees with the flanks of her robe. Emma awoke from her gaze.

"It was flavoured vodka night and I think I had too many cinnamon ones. The honey and pepper one was just blegh."

"What about the case? Did you find anything out?"

"Oh yeah. Well, there are just too many members of staff. I can't mix with all of them."

"Let's hope the breadcrumbs we're scattering produce something."

"I did find out a bit more about Dawn."

"Dawn?"

"Chambermaid I replaced. Apparently she was a bit of a... what's the female equivalent of ladies' man?" asked Emma thoughtfully.

"Floozy."

"And she had a lot of fallings out with management. She walked out last week, apparently. Then there's Janie - she could well turn out to be the psycho bitch from hell. Normally I'd steer well clear of her but she might be connected to the investigation." Kate leant over to pour the coffee and her robe fell open a little, exposing the top of a large bruise on her chest. "You've hurt yourself." Emma sat up, suddenly concerned.

Kate quickly leant back and pinched together the two sides of the robe. "I had a fall."

"You never said."

"It was ages ago and looks much worse than it actually is." She winced in pain as she sat back in her chair.

"You _are_ hurt."

Kate pointed at her shoulder. "_This_ is from the thoroughly hideous massage I had."

"I'm cleaning sinks and you're having massages. Doesn't seem very fair."

"Trust me, it wasn't a pleasurable experience. I don't think Olga was quite qualified."

"Olga?"

"The masseuse."

"Oh, Brenda."

"Sorry. Brenda?"

"Yeah, some of the staff have fake names to make the hotel experience a bit more – authentic, or something. There's also Phil, one of the barmen. I think he goes by Alexandro or something."

"Alejandro?

"That's it."

"I feel quite cheated."

"What about you then? What've you found out?"

"That staying in a hotel alone is possibly the most non-relaxing thing I have ever done."

Emma was about to respond when she was caught by a yawn.

"You should get to bed. Where are you sleeping?" asked Kate.

"The powers that be have given me one of the disused rooms near the offices. There's a load of junk in there. Luckily... that includes a bed. I have to get up at seven, though."

"Just two hours before you usually like to see daylight, then. Would you like me to give you a wake up call?"

Emma pressed her lips together and gave a small, frowning nod.

Hotel office wing

"You watch yourself on the cord, petal," said one of the cleaners, whose name was Mavis as she rammed the vacuum cleaner about, circling Emma.

"Do you not hoover in Mr Howgego's office tonight?"

"The manager? We don't do in there while Wednesday. He's very particular about that. Bit of a weirdo if you ask me."

"Oh yeah, what gives that impression?"

Mavis nudged Emma and spoke quietly into her ear: "He keeps a load of lady brochures in his drawer."

"Lady brochures? Like what?" Emma was momentarily lost for ideas. "Mail-order brides?"

"_No_, you know, like them pornetto magazines. Gerrit?"

"_Oh._ I get you." Emma chucked as she walked around the corner to Nicholas' office to take a quick look.

Nicholas Howgego's office

Emma had never seen such a well organised office; not even Kate could have matched Nicholas' meticulous nature. She wandered through to the back cautiously and tried the door to the storage room. It was locked. She walked back to his desk and looked through the pots of paper clips, pens, scissors and staples, all categorised too neatly to contain a key. She tried the drawer but found nothing apart from the magazines mentioned by the cleaner. What was in the storage room that had to be kept so well locked up?

Emma walked over to the staff filing cabinet and pulled out the staff record for Dawn Brackstone. Her letter of resignation was there, however it stated that she had agreed to work her notice.

Emma decided to give up the office as a lost cause and go to bed.

Kate's hotel room

Kate drew the curtains, got into bed, lay down and covered her eyes with interlaced fingers. Her phone flashed and then was silent. She read the text: 'good night kirsty i think this room is haunted.' She keyed in a reply: 'Good night, Emily. There is no such thing as ghosts.' She put the phone down, then reconsidered and picked it up again, typing another message that read: 'Be careful.'

Emma's hotel room

Emma decided to wedge a chair under the door handle. She did not really think that the room was haunted but she did feel unsettled. The feeling was not helped by the fact that she was watched over by an overly ornate portrait of an elderly, bearded man with basket of a grouse by his side and a shotgun on his shoulder. More than anything, she craved reassurance. _'Why is is that I keep having to spend the night in windowless rooms?'_ she thought to herself. Emma turned over onto her side, cupping her phone in her hand. She typed in 'u2.x' and pressed send, turned off the lamp and went to sleep.

Kate's room

"You've got to be kidding me. No way." Emma crossed her arms, standing her ground.

"You can't just leave mine out," Kate said, her arms flapping to her sides.

"No one'll know," Emma said conspiratorially.

"It's your job."

"It's not my job. Investigating crime is my job."

"You have two roles this week."

"I'm tired." Emma's shoulders sunk.

Kate checked her watch. "It's barely eleven."

Emma made puppy eyes at Kate.

Kate sighed and held out her hand. "Give me the cloth."

* * *

"Why did you join the police, Ash?" asked Emma from the comfort of the freshly-made bed. She was drinking tea and ploughing her way through a pack of custard creams.

"It must have been all the excitement and crazy things we police get to do," Kate called back from the bathroom. She was on her hands and knees, scrubbing the sink pedestal.

"Honestly?"

"I don't know. The whole 'protect the community' bit springs to mind."

"Would you ever change jobs?"

"No, I love what I do. What we do."

Corridor

Emma backed her way down the corridor, dragging the trolley along with her. There was a whumping sound as she bumped into an unsuspecting woman, who dropped a crate of wilting flowers.

"Oh god, I'm sorry. Are you alright?" asked Emma as she helped to pick up the fallen flowers and pruning instruments.

"I'm fine, it happens. I'm a butterfingers anyway. I'm Martha, by the way."

By this point Emma was well used to shaking people by the hand and using her false name.

"We'd best not leave any mess or Mr Howgego will be on our backs. Apparently he's a bit uptight."

Martha laughed nervously. "Yes, I suppose he can be."

Staff locker room

"You didn't?!" exclaimed Janie, taking her cigarettes out of her storage locker.

"What? What did I do wrong?" asked Emma.

"She's Nicholas' sister. If she tells him what you said, he'll have you."

"Just my luck."

The Grange gardens

"You texted, m'lady," said Emma.

"You took your time," replied Kate.

"You were the one who said I was working two jobs here. I had to wait for my break." They strolled along the high-walled lush green garden. "We're still in plain sight; we'll have to go through here." Emma pushed open a wooden gate which was signed 'staff only', and led Kate through to the vegetable patches. "What did you want me for, anyway?"

"I just don't think we're getting anywhere. We've only got three nights here and that's it."

"So what? You can't solve everything. This hotel might not even be related to those cheating businessmen's deaths."

They walked alongside a high, deep hedgerow. All of a sudden, Emma pushed Kate back against it and dragged her into an archway. She was breathing heavily. She saw that Kate was about to shout at her and so she covered Kate's mouth with her hand. "Shh. Look."

Almost out of view, Scott could be seen walking over to the Victorian glasshouse. From out of the entrance, Martha came running. She jumped into his arms and they kissed. Martha looked sorrowful and Scott appeared to be comforting her. They away walked, hand in hand, until they were out of view.

"Phew," said Emma. "That was close."

They suddenly noted the closeness of their bodies, as they had been forced to huddle together to remain out of sight. They moved apart but were thrown back together.

"I can't go," said Emma, softly.

"What's wrong?" asked Kate, sweetly.

Emma looked up into Kate's eyes and pointed at the space between them. "My badge is caught on your cardi."

The Grange lake

Kate wrapped her cardigan further around her middle. A small hole had formed on the place over her heart. She shivered a little as a cool breeze blew over the lake. She took a deep breath of fresh air, turned to clear leaves from a bench, and sat down by the waterside. From the secluded spot closely surrounded by trees and shrubs, she watched ducks as they dabbled and pecked at floating leaves. She considered her job, her life, and other places she could be. A rush of wind brought water cascading up the bank and Kate caught sight of an object. She stood up and approached the spot. Holding onto a branch which extended over the water, she used a long stick to clear away debris, revealing the heel of an upturned black stiletto shoe.

The Grange – outside

Emma walked around the building, counting windows. "It must be this one." She piled up a couple of wooden boxes and precariously stood on top of the stack, peeping into the room. She cupped her face to the window and squinted to look into the darkness. She could make out racks which held rows of DVD boxes, monitor screens and recording equipment. Surely one hotel would not need such a wealth of security equipment, especially here - when they already have a security room based near the front gates? On the left was the door to Nicholas' office and on the right was another door. Emma heard the sound of someone running on gravel.

"What's going on?" came a shout and Emma froze, slowly turning in the direction of the voice.

* * *

**Part 4**

* * *

The Grange – outside

Emma breathed a sigh of relief as she realised that she had not been spotted. She saw the slight figure of Zoe looking out towards the drive of the hotel. Zoe had been calling out to Bradley, who was fast approaching. Emma jumped down and cleared away the boxes, placing them back in the large wheelie bin. As she did so she spotted a glinting circular object and reached in for it. It was a CD. She popped it in her dress pocket and casually walked around to the front to talk to Zoe. Police cars and a black ambulance were parked by the entrance. A young constable, whom Emma recognised, was busy attaching police tape to trees. Emma, Zoe and Bradley stood watching Nicholas animatedly telling one of the officers to move the cars because of the inconvenience to guests.

"What's happening?" asked Emma.

"One of the guests found a dead body in the lake," replied Zoe.

"No way, who was it?"

"Mrs Arundel."

Panic flashed across Emma's eyes. "Mrs Arundel?"

"Wha?"

"Oh, you mean Mrs Arundel _found_ the body." Emma's racing heartbeat returned to a normal rate.

"Yeah."

"We don't know whose body it is... no one would tell me anything," added Bradley.

"Don't you lot have work to do?" Nicholas announced as he walked towards them and away from the police.

Kate's room

"I came as soon as I could get away," said Emma. "I heard what happened."

"It's very strange discovering a body like that."

"But you see dead bodies all the time."

"Only when we're called onto a scene." Kate chewed the inside of her cheek.

They did not know it, but they both began thinking about the morning when Emma awoke next to the murdered body of her lover.

"So," began Emma after a few moments of silence. "Was it a woman or a man?"

"Woman. Well dressed, skirt suit. Expensive shoes."

"Murdered?"

"Nasty looking stab wound to the back."

"Whereabouts on her back?"

Kate hesitated for a moment before holding Emma by the shoulder to turn her. She pressed a finger against the relevant area of her lower back. "Here-ish."

Without turning, Emma responded, "So the attacker would have _had_ to approach from behind?"

"Yes. Like this." Kate placed her left arm across Emma's chest and pulled her close, the thumb of her left hand brushing against Emma's collarbone. "She had a red mark here." Kate's fingertips drew a line down the right hand side of Emma's neck; she could feel her pulse. "As if they had pulled at her necklace while pushing the blade in." Kate pressed hard into Emma's back to simulate the action.

Emma gulped. "So it's looking like this hotel is definitely related to those other murders."

"I would say so." Kate let go and Emma turned to face her.

"Oh, I forgot to say. I found this - might be nothing. It was on top of the rubbish bags like someone had just chucked it in there." She drew from her pocket the blank-faced CD holding it with her finger through the central hole. "It may just be music but can you give it to Sullivan to check? "

"The television can play all sorts of media; why don't we have a listen ourselves?"

"This place really _is_ swish."

"Well this isn't the kind of place where people steal the batteries from remotes. They don't have to chain the TV to the wall either." Kate put in the CD and turned on the television.

"On the downside, you _are_ more likely to be murdered if you stay here."

"Well there is always that." Kate pressed play.

After a short period of silence, a young woman's voice could be heard. It was crystal clear. She was shouting and arguing, but there was no one else on the CD at all. Just her.

Offices

Emma glanced around. To the left of Nicholas' office were the staff toilets, and there were no extra doors in there leading to the storeroom. Emma chewed on her bottom lip. _The next room is mine but there's no door in there. Unless...'_ She ran around the corner to her own room. Upon entering, she began to clear away the spare side tables and trolleys until she came to the large double mattress, which she pushed to one side to reveal a door. "You have got to be kidding me," Emma said to herself half excited. She pushed down the handle and entered.

Kate's room

"You've recovered one dead body, so things must be going well," said Sullivan.

"Well, to be honest, it just sort of washed up when I was sitting by the lake," said Kate.

"So no leads?"

"Not as yet. Apart from the CD, which appears to be some sort of one-sided phone conversation. There's not really much we can do except observe."

"Well, you could always have an affair behind your husband's back."

"With whom?"

"You don't actually have to have the affair, Ash. Just pretend you are, get close to someone, and make it look good. How do you think Scribbs is getting on?"

"The workload is a little harsh on her but she's taking it in her stride."

"And can I still count on you as a team?"

"What do you mean?" Kate asked.

"No one could expect your partnership to just repair itself overnight after what happened. Have you at least talked about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about."

"How does she feel about the blunt force trauma you received whilst trying to prove her innocence?"

Kate looked out of the window.

"You haven't even told her, have you?" he looked disappointed.

Storeroom

Emma pulled open the filing cabinets full of bills, statements and records, all of which referred to the term 'extra services'. She closed the drawer and ran her finger along the edge of the DVDs, reading the text on their spines. They were in date order and some had little coloured paper dots stuck to them. She took one at random and put it into the DVD player. It looked like surveillance footage but there was no one in shot. She fast-forwarded until someone came into view. The person on screen unpacked her bags and sat on the edge of the bed. _'I know that suite,'_ thought Emma. Nothing else remarkable happened in the recording. She tried another, which was much more recent. She watched as a portly man paced around the room, tapping his watch. He was soon joined by a svelte dark-haired woman who took no time at all in seducing him and leading him over to the bed. "Crikey," said Emma. "Is that what they mean by 'extra services'?" She flipped it off and put both DVDs back where she had found them. Turning to the bank of monitors, she switched them all on and watched one screen with particular interest.

Kate's room

Emma ran in without knocking. "He's got CCTV cameras hooked up."

"Well that's fairly standard these days, I -" Kate waved her hand to one side.

Emma grabbed hold of her wrist. "In the rooms."

"In the rooms?" Kate was wide-eyed. "You mean in the _bedrooms_?"

"I was just watching you, and -"

"In _this_ room? I've been under surveillance?" Kate looked around for a camera. Emma pointed behind her to an area near the ceiling. "I thought that was security for the windows." Kate shivered with disgust.

"Nicholas might be onto us."

"Have you seen any indication of that?"

"Not yet. The DVD recordings stopped before we arrived so we might be okay."

"Well let's hope that's the case. So, what is he? A voyeur?"

"I'm starting to think that he's either a pimp or a blackmailer, actually. Or even both."

"Right, let's go get him."

Emma caught Kate by the arm. "We can't."

"Why not?"

Emma stuck her arms out to her sides to remind Kate of what she was wearing. "Undercover. Chambermaids don't make arrests."

"Kirsty Arundel could be a policewoman for all they know," said Kate, pointing at herself.

"Naa, too risky. Besides, I don't think Nicholas killed anyone."

"But the motive is there. He has footage of these people."

"I dunno, it just doesn't click for me."

Kate's phone began to bleep, informing her that she had a text message. "Did you say it was a woman called Dawn who had all those arguments with Nicholas Howgego?"

"Yeah, that's right. Why?"

Kate showed her the display on the phone. "Because she's the one I found dead this morning."

"Well, that's that then. Policemen's hats back on."

* * *

"Does the text from Sullivan say what the murder weapon was?" asked Emma.

"We're looking at scissors. They think."

"Well Nicholas _is_ a man who likes his stationery."

Nicholas Howgego's office

"It's not what you think," said Nicholas.

"I assume we don't have to introduce ourselves. That is, if you've been watching us on your little camera system," said Kate, feeling empowered in her role as a detective.

"You're both police, aren't you?"

"Got it in one," replied Emma.

"I did wonder for a while if you might both be engaging in an affair, but I soon realised the truth."

Emma and Kate glanced at each other furtively. "What can you tell us about this CD, Mr Howgego?" Emma asked, spinning the disc around her finger.

"I didn't kill Dawn," he protested. "We ran a business together, that is all."

"You prostituted her?"

"She prostituted herself. She let me film, and together we blackmailed the men she slept with. For that you can arrest me."

"I think I get this CD business now," said Emma. "Let me see if I get this right. You would both enter your office, seen by your colleagues. Then you would have an argument with a recording of Dawn's voice, whilst Dawn slipped out via the storage room door, through my room -"

"Your room?" he asked, confused.

Emma ignored him. "To shag your guests."

"That's right."

"Then you bill them for the pleasure. So to speak. It was an alibi for your business on the side, wasn't it, Mr Howgego?" asked Kate.

"People call me anal, but I think I just have a healthy paranoia."

"So why did you kill Dawn?"

"I didn't. I didn't kill anyone. That's what I wanted to tell you. You can finally help me in this matter. I too am being blackmailed - by Scott. He found the room. He knows all about it and forced me to hand over my records so he could offer the wives a contract killing. I read about the first death a week later. You have to stop him."

"But what about Dawn?" asked Kate.

"He killed Dawn. I know he did. She was going to report him to the police," Nicholas responded.

"But that would put you well in it as well. You had just as much reason to kill her," said Emma.

"When she left, I was stuck on the phone with a customer who was making a complaint. You can check the phone records."

The Grange kitchens

"I'm sorry but guests aren't permitted in this area," said Scott without looking up.

"Not a guest anymore. Middleford CID. I would like to ask you a couple of questions about the death of Dawn Brackstone," said Kate, who was backed up by a couple of uniformed officers.

The back door came flying open. "I did it," cried Martha.

Scott caught her and dragged her back, "Martha," he said strongly, "I may as well go down for her death. You don't need to be blamed."

The Grange lobby

Gavin caught up with Emma by the exit. "Hey. I heard you're actually a copper and you've resolved some big murder thing."

"You're not hiding anything that would mean I have to arrest you, are you?" Emma asked jokily.

"Nope, I'm one of the good ones. You're not leaving already?"

"'Fraid so. Work to do."

He leaned in. "Look, I was wondering. I'm playing football at the weekend and I wondered if you wanted to come and watch. Maybe catch a drink afterwards or something?"

"Is this because of the police thing?" she asked.

"I was going to ask you before, just... didn't get the chance."

Emma thought for a moment. "You're a really nice guy and I really appreciate the gesture, but... I'm already with someone."

"Shame. Well... not for them." He smiled and bid her goodbye. "Have a good life, Emily."

The Grange - driveway

Emma joined Kate and they watched police cars cart away Nicholas, Martha and Scott. Nicholas looked positively relieved.

"Er, why is Martha being taken away?" asked Emma.

"Think about it. What is the one item that a florist is likely to have on her person?" replied Kate.

"Flowers."

"And?" Kate asked encouragingly.

Emma thought back to when she bumped into Martha. "Scissors!"

"And she would want to kill Dawn because…?"

"She was going to report both her brother and her lover to the police," Emma said with the glow of realisation spreading across her face.

"Exactly."

Emma's house

Emma had been extremely pragmatic when it came to the events that had taken place a few weeks previous. Since then she and Kate had cleaned the blood-splattered room, had the old bed taken away and the carpet replaced. During this time Emma slept on the sofa, though every so often she would turn up at Kate's flat and sleep on _her_ sofa, unable to cope with being in her house alone. With the man who tried to frame her back behind bars and the locks changed, she felt much safer, for now anyway. They had begun work on the room in silence, but through the changes they too became refreshed and renewed, and their relationship developed into a comfortable one again. Now back from their undercover investigation, the room was complete and they stood either side of the new bed, each stuffing a pillow into a pillowcase. Once finished they climbed onto the bed and lay down, side by side.

"What a difference," remarked Kate.

"Thanks for all the help and support, Ash. I don't know what I would have done without you." Emma put her hand down to place it on top of Kate's, but Kate moved hers too quickly and Emma's rested on fresh linen instead.

"You would've been fine. I must say, this bed is lovely and comfortable," said Kate, changing the subject.

"We've got one thing left to do now. Christen it." Emma reached over Kate's body and down past her side.

Kate's eyes widened and she looked confused. "What are you doing?"

"Ta da." Emma revealed an imperial-sized bottle of champagne and two fluted glasses.

"Ah, right."

"What did you think I meant?" Emma chuckled. Inside she cursed the finished room; she had been able to see Kate often and without much excuse. _'I wish I could tell you how I feel, but you'd never understand,'_ thought Emma as she squeezed the cork until it popped.

Kate watched Emma fill her glass. _'It's time to leave. She's okay now and she'll be better off without me,'_ she decided.

* * *

**Next Episode:**  
A serial killer is on the loose, everyone is on the case 24-7, and they're tired. Ash clearly has something else on her mind, while Scribbs is going out of hers. Could this mean the end of their partnership?


	6. Cut to the Chase

With the thud of a heartbeat, Emma felt her stomach twist with anticipation. Kate moved closer and took her hands in her own, intermingling their fingers. With her thumbs, Kate stroked Emma's palms. Emma closed her eyes. Rising panic, rushing emotion, a kick of adrenaline, she breathed deeply and leant forward but Kate was gone; she had evaporated into the mist. With empty hands and hollow heart, Emma felt herself suddenly drop through the air.

Her body gave a jolt and she awoke from the dream feeling hot, restless and very alone. Only yesterday, Eric Granby had confessed to the murders of five young women, closing the case. Consequently, and with barely a pause for breath, Kate was due to leave the next day. The end of Kate and Emma's partnership was nigh.

"I have to know why," Emma said to herself.

* * *

**Part 1**

* * *

**THREE DAYS EARLIER**

Eric Granby's flat

Kayleigh could not see anything - a blanket covered her - but she could just make out the shape of Eric standing over her. He was saying something. "You stay there. Keep down. No noise." His voice was calm and calculating. She began to hyperventilate and once she had heard him leave, she began to frantically fumble in her sequin-studded handbag for her inhaler. Grasping it shakily, she drew heavily on it and worried at the rattling noise it produced. Breathing soundly again she listened for any sign of what was to be her fate. Eric re-entered the room and there was a click. Kayleigh could not quite make out the voices that emitted from the television. Eric watched intently.

"The body of a young woman found in the grounds of Ardmoore School for Girls last Wednesday has been formally identified as that of sixteen-year-old Elizabeth Tripp, a student at the school."

On the television, Detective Inspector Sullivan, flanked by detectives Inspector Ashurst and Sergeant Scribbins, motioned for another question from the press.

"Can you confirm if this is related to the other deaths?" asked a female journalist.

"We have reason to believe that it is. The common denominator between the victims, as far as can be ascertained is that they were all female and aged between thirteen and sixteen years. All of the girls were pregnant, including the latest victim, at the time of death."

"Do you have any suspects?" a man asked, raising his pen to indicate his location.

"We have reports coming in of a man seen fleeing three out of the five crime scenes. We would very much like to track him down in order to determine his involvement."

"What action is Middleford Police taking?"

"Our officers will be working around the clock to crack this case. In the meantime we highly advise caution -"

With a resounding clunk the television blipped off. Eric approached Kayleigh; she clung onto her swollen pregnant belly and closed her eyes tightly.

PortOne nightclub

"What is this anyway - orgasmic house music?" shouted Kate over the din.

"I think you mean euphoric house music," replied Emma, speaking directly into her colleague's ear.

"Same difference." Kate waved her hand airily. "I very feel out of place."

"I can imagine it's not exactly your style. Unless you've been secretly body popping to Justin Timberlake in the kitchen?"

"Pardon?"

"Nothing." Emma looked down at her jeans, t-shirt and suit jacket. "I feel overdressed."

"Anything more than bra and knickers is overdressed in this place," noted Kate, looking the youths up and down haughtily. Gradually, they worked their way through the heaving bodies and to the manager's office. "Why don't you take the lead on this one?" Kate ushered Emma forward and knocked on the door.

"You sure?" asked Emma, surprised. Kate nodded in response as the door opened.

"Good evening. My name is DS Scribbins and this is DI Ashurst. We're from Middleford CID. Might we ask a few questions?"

"Of course," replied the manager, Belinda.

"At present we're making it a formality to make any missing young women our priority for investigation, especially those who also happen to be pregnant. We understand a -" she checked her notebook "- Kayleigh Clampton was working here until a few days ago?"

"Kayleigh, yes. Tuesday night was the last time we saw her."

"Can you give us any details of what happened that night?"

"I think you'd better speak to Sandy, our cloakroom attendant. She works alternate shifts with Kayleigh." Belinda led them through to a dingy area near the bar.

Without introduction, Sandy leapt into conversation as though she had been approached by a couple of minor celebrities. "I know you two, I've seen you on the telly, giving interviews and stuff. You think Kayleigh's been taken by that serial killer, don't you?"

"We can't say for certain until we know more about what happened the last time she was seen," Emma explained.

Sandy popped her bubble gum. "She left here about eleven. That's when I started my shift."

"Did Kayleigh mention anything about leaving or running away?" asked Emma. Sandy thought about it for a moment and then shook her head. Kate stood silently, her hands in front, left hand over right fist, as she patiently allowed Emma to ask all of the questions.

"Did she leave with anyone? A friend or maybe her boyfriend?"

"Naa, not so far as I'd know."

"Are you sure, Sandy? It's important."

"Yeah, for definite. And she doesn't have a boyfriend. To be honest, I don't even think she knows who got her pregnant."

"Can you show us the route she would have taken to leave the building?"

Sandy led them out, locking the cloakroom behind her and leaving a sign on the hatch. "They'll just have to dance in their coats and get hot for a bit." The detectives followed her down a series of corridors and eventually reached a fire escape which they were told was also used as a back door. They exited into an wide alley alongside the nightclub. "There you go. Anything else?"

Emma looked to Kate for any further questions but her partner was gazing up at the sky with her arms crossed, so she turned back to Sandy. "Do you know which route home Kayleigh would have taken?"

"She usually goes left out of here, down Barnell Road, up by the park, left down by the old jam factory, then her estate's just down there."

"Thanks for your time, Sandy. That's been really useful," said Emma kindly. Sandy nodded and then re-entered the club, leaving them alone.

"We'll make an Inspector of you yet," Kate said suddenly.

"Will we now?" remarked Emma with a mocking tone as she glanced around the area to see if it had a security camera.

The alley was floodlit and it was not long before Kate found a splattered patch of blood. "What do you think about this?" she asked.

Emma shrugged. "It's a teenagers' nightclub, of course there's blood. It's not a good night out if a couple of lads don't get in a fight over a girl. Do you fancy going for a walk? We could take her route."

"Yes, that might be a good idea."

"If it's by the old jam factory then it must be Northfields Estate. It's not far at all."

Kate felt a twinge in her heart and a sense of nausea crept over her. "Actually, let's leave it for tonight." She checked her watch. "Look at the time, Scribbs. Way past bedtime." Kate quickly marched off in the direction of the car. Emma shook her head and followed.

CID office

Following a scraping of chairs and a lot of chatter, the group of officers settled down to hear to what Detective Chief Inspector Sullivan had to say. He stood beside a four foot high map of Middleford, which was dotted with markers of deaths, homes and places of work for all of the victims. "Right, everyone," he called out. "You know how much I hate for the public to feel on edge, but in this case it is all the more important to catch the killer and put this to bed. I want serious man hours on this, even if that means sixteen-hour days... for everyone, myself included. Under no circumstances can we afford to be complacent about this. Peters, I want you to take three officers and visit all the local pregnancy clinics that our victims used. Gather information on any people seen in the area. Show them the photo fit we've got. Cramford, you're on phone duty - track down the suppliers of the fabric used in the strangulations. Barnes and Curtis, I want you to look at any ties between the girls, anything - I don't care if it's the same social club or the same shampoo: find it. Ashurst and Scribbins, I believe you have a visitor: a certain Mr Trevor."

"Oh no, not him," said Emma, leaning back in her plastic chair.

Kate was sitting beside her. "I don't think I know him, do I?" she asked, leaning over towards her partner.

"You do, Ash. Phillip Nundy," Emma whispered.

"Ah! Middleford's worst police informant. Great," she said sarcastically.

"9 out of 10 cats could do better," said Emma jokily.

"So who's Mr Trevor?" asked Kate as the crowd of officers began to disperse and go about their business.

Gallimore joined them, rubbing his hands together. "Whatev Trev's waiting for you in interview 1; he said he's got some right juicy gossip for you."

"Suddenly all becomes clear."

Interview Room 1

"Oh come on, Phillip, you don't honestly think we're going to believe you this time?" stated Emma, incredulously.

"Have you heard of The Boy Who Cried Wolf?" asked Kate.

"You hum it and I'll join in." He smiled back at them, running his fingers through his dark gelled hair. "Honestly, though. This time I'm telling the truth. His name is Eric Granby and he fits your profile to a T." He made an O shape with his thumb and forefinger.

Kate narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Is that it then? He fits our profile?"

"Not only that, but I saw him with Elizabeth Tripp the day before her death."

"This is all very convenient, Phillip," said Emma, crossing her arms.

"Cross my heart and hope not to die. We were out doing a few deals near her school. Don't worry," he said pre-emptively, "not selling to kids. We saw her coming out of school. You can't miss a young girl like that with a baby bump that size. They had a chat, he looked really angry and she basically told him to eff off. Let's just say he noticed me and we did a bit of business."

"Is that all you saw? It's not much to accuse a man by," said Emma.

"That," he pulled a folded piece of newspaper from his pocket, laid it out on the table and stabbed it with his finger, "and he looks _exactly_ like your photo fit drawing. 'Cept you got the ears wrong."

The Corner Café

"You don't fool me, Ash," said Emma, shaking a sugar packet and pushing aside a plate on which were a few breadcrumbs left behind after sandwiches. "This is not normal behaviour."

"What makes you say that?" asked Kate as she blew on her cappuccino.

"You scared the living daylights out of that shopkeeper when you shouted at him."

"It was justified, Scribbs. I was in the right."

"Be that as it may, but this was the first time you've ever marched in, flashed your badge and claimed to work for the _grammar_ police."

"The apostrophe on their sign was unforgivable."

Emma shook her head. "You're being totally irrational."

Kate rubbed the back of her neck. "I'm just a little stressed, that's all."

"Well we'll have to see what we can do about that." Emma checked her watch. "We'd better get going soon."

The bell on the café door rang as someone entered. Kate and Emma both looked up. It was Kate who noticed the partially obscured text on the newspaper under the man's arm. She quickly stood and asked, "sorry, Sir, may I take a quick look at that?"

"Yes, here you go," he replied genially.

She unfolded it to read the front page of the local paper. 'First suspect revealed,' it announced. "Did you purchase this recently?" she asked.

"It's this afternoon's edition, yes. Why?" he asked.

"Thanks." Kate thrust the paper carelessly back into his hands and turned to Emma. "Drink up. It looks like Mr Nundy has been a bit liberal with his suspicions and told the press. It's time to go and have a word with Eric Granby."

* * *

**Part 2**

* * *

Eric Granby's flat

The door to Eric's flat was banging lightly against its frame as the wind blew it to and fro. Emma nudged it open with her foot. "Mr Granby?" Silence. "Eric Granby? It's the police. We'd like to have word." She and Kate waited for a few seconds, hoping for a response. When one was not forthcoming they entered cautiously and checked each room of the flat.

"Ash?"

"Yes?" replied Kate.

"Come in here. I hate to say it but I think Phil Nundy was right."

Kate entered to find Emma crouched over a heaped, blood-stained blanket. "I wonder if we can find out the owner of this." Using a pencil she lifted the corner to reveal an inhaler.

"I don't think we need look far; Kayleigh Clampton was asthmatic."

Susan Granby's house

"My boy was raised right. A firm hand, a protective home," Susan protested.

"No formal accusations or warrants for arrests have been made but the likelihood is great that your son is involved in some way," stated Kate. "At present we are interested in bringing Eric in purely for an interview."

"Or in other words, you think he did it."

"Do you know where your son might be, Mrs Granby?" asked Emma.

Susan sneered. "I've brought many children into this world and I know how to raise them. He's a good Christian boy and if he knows what's good for him he'll be in the church praying. He may be guilty in your eyes, but he is innocent in His."

"Eric will not be judged on conjecture. Can you provide us with details of his place of work?" asked Kate, while Emma stood to look at a set of Eric's school photos. In each he wore a dour expression.

Susan wore a similiar expression herself. "He is a porter at the hospital."

* * *

"All of the girls who were murdered had at some point or another taken a trip to the Women's Health department at the hospital. He could have seen and followed them. We'd best get someone stationed at the hospital in case he comes back." They walked back to the car and got in. Kate dialled the office on her mobile and listened to it ring.

Emma nodded. "Maybe we should go to Northfields and give Kayleigh's parents an update on the situation."

"Let uniform do it," replied Kate. "I... I don't really feel up to it."

CID office

The office was busy with the bustle of news, the ring of phones, everyone having felt a burst of energy after the identification of an actual suspect. However, other things were on Emma's mind. "Do you remember the guy who delivers the pizza? He asked me out," she said.

"What's that I hear? Oh yes, it's the sound of scraping against the bottom of a barrel. That boy is two levels below pond life, Scribbs," said Kate.

"Ease up there, Ash. He's not that bad," responded Emma.

"Pre-evolutionary plankton."

"Bit heavy on the dope but he's okay."

"You can do better."

"I know. I told him I already have plans for tonight." Emma smiled.

"Oh yes, with whom?" asked Kate.

"You, hopefully."

"I'm sorry, come again?"

Emma's smile grew into a grin as she passed over an envelope. "Happy Birthday."

Kate took it and pulled out a card. "That's funny, I thought I'd decided not to have a birthday this year." Two tickets fell out as she opened it. She examined them.

"I thought it'd be nice for us to go see a musical. Unless you have plans, that is?"

"I don't know, Scribbs."

"They're doing open air Shakespeare in the park this week if you'd prefer that."

"The musical is fine, but what about the case?"

"Come on Ash, you need a break. You've been so down recently."

"We're in the middle of an incredibly serious investigation."

"You can't think about the case 24-7. Sullivan practically insisted that we go. We need a break. You've worked harder on this than anyone. Oh, and I also got you this." From behind her she pulled out a colourfully wrapped item. Kate unwrapped the present to find that it was a CD. "It's to replace the one I sat on. And there's a card from everyone." She handed a much larger envelope over to Kate. "And the pièce de résistance. Ta da." A couple of officers brought through a large chocolate cake and placed it down on a table nearly. "To show our love and appreciation."

"Thank you." Kate rose and gave Emma a brief hug. Despite her difficult mood, Kate was touched by the gifts. "You go ahead and get some cake; I'll be there in a minute."

Gallimore approached as Emma left; he picked up the CD and examined it. "So you like her, do ya?" he asked, nodding towards the singer on the cover.

Kate glanced from the CD to the group of officers surrounding Emma. She was cutting the cake into uneven sections. "Yes. Yes, I do," Kate said despondently.

Gallimore noticed she was not looking in the same direction as he was, and turned to follow the line of her absent-minded gaze.

Sullivan's office

"Any news on the surveillance tapes?" asked Sullivan. He looked up from his desk to Constable Gallimore who was in his office to give an update.

"Nothing particularly useful yet." Gallimore turned and made to walk away, but then reconsidered, something niggling at the back of his mind. "Is there something a bit funny going on between -"

"Ash and Scribbs?"

"Yeah. It's just, well, I noticed they're acting funny round each other. I know it sounds weird but I think -" Sullivan began to nod. "So you've seen it too? The way she looks at her?" Sullivan took a deep breath and nodded again, crossing his arms as he did so, standing up from his chair. "It's sort of like she's got a crush on..."

They spoke at the same moment as Sullivan moved around to the front of his desk and sat on the edge. "Scribbs," said Gallimore. "Ash," said Sullivan.

"Oh." A look of confusion came over Gallimore's face.

"Ah, interesting. Looks like we have two sides of the story here."

"D'you think we should say anything?"

"Best let them work it out for themselves. After all, it may come to nothing." Sullivan placed a hand on Gallimore's shoulder.

"And if it doesn't?"

"Well, I'm sure it would not be the first same-sex relationship the police force has seen." They laughed. Suddenly feeling very aware of their close proximity, Sullivan removed his hand and adjusted his tie.

Gallimore cleared his throat and pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "Right. I'll go and chase those tapes for you."

Kate's desk

Kate toggled back to her browser window and continued reading about her subject of interest: Cognitive Dissonance. Her mind swam with the varying descriptions of the anguish and distress caused by people's reaction to an internal conflict. She glanced up to find Emma looking directly at her.

"You alright, Ash?"

"I'm fine." Kate tugged at a piece of paper. Her cup of water tipped and flooded the desk. "Damn it," she exclaimed, raised her hands and ran out to get a roll of kitchen paper. She returned to her desk and began pressing wodges of it onto the pool of water, a stern look on her face.

"Had a spill?" asked Sullivan as he casually wandered over.

"No. I'm making a papier-mâché swan, actually." She clenched the soggy paper in her hands, then looked up and saw his pursed lips. "Sorry. Sorry." She held her hands up, clenched her teeth together and mentally scolded herself.

"A word, Ash, in my office."

"I'll sort that. You go." Emma rose from her chair and shot Sullivan a pleading look.

Sullivan's office

"I've been meaning to speak to you about this for quite a while now," said Kate.

"I see." Sullivan perused the document that lay before him. "One thing."

"Yes?"

"I can't have my team broken up at this stage of the investigation."

"But boss…"

"No buts, Ash," said Sullivan curtly. Kate's shoulders sank. "I won't pretend to be happy about this but I can see your mind is made up." He moved in front of Kate, put his hands in his pockets resignedly and sat down on his desk. "It's a shame to see you go, and to see the end of such a good partnership. Stay until this case is resolved. Only then will I put the transfer through."

* * *

**Part 3**

* * *

CID office

"For... no. I think I... no. When you... oh, that's rubbish," Emma muttered to herself.

Kate looked over at Emma and watched her frown. She sat down opposite. "What's rubbish?"

"Mm? Oh... nothing."

Kate would normally have probed for more but in truth she just did not feel herself. "We need to finish this case, and fast." She got up and turned to the board, which was covered with pictures of the victims. "It's not race-related, not class-related: just young, pregnant women. And what is the significance of the cloths they were strangled with? It's the same each time. Why do you think that is?"

"Symbolic, I'd say. The cloth is white and it's been left on and tied neatly about the neck. They all have their eyes closed, too. I think he wants to cleanse them. Perhaps he sees them as lost children and wants to make them innocent again."

"A missionary killer's motive would make sense. That's very insightful, Scribbs. Very impressive. "

"A compliment from you, Ash, is so much more worth the having."

Kate blushed a little.

Middleford New Theatre

They sat side by side in the darkness of the stalls, lit only by the stage lights. Kate's foot tapped lightly in time to the music. There was a bag of sweets on the floor between them. In a lull in the music they both leant down for a sweet; their heads knocked together and they instinctively held their foreheads. Emma smiled and Kate reciprocated. Emma held her finger up to motion for Kate to stay where she was; she picked out two wrapped sweets and placed one in Kate's hand. But instead of simply closing her hand, Kate clasped on to Emma's fingers. Emma looked down and then into Kate's serious eyes. A row of lights, as bright as headlamps, rose up from the stage floor and shone onto the audience, startling them. With a rumble of percussion the next song began.

* * *

At the interval the house lights came up and everyone began shuffling out to the lobby, to the toilets and bar. Approaching the bar, Emma bought two drinks. Kate took hers and tipped it back as if it were water.

"Steady there, girl," said Emma.

"Scribbs, I think I should warn you before you hear from anyone else," said Kate, her heart racing.

"This doesn't sound good."

"I'm transferring," she blurted out.

"Ash, hold on. Transfer to what? Another area? Another division?"

"I _was_ going to give that a _bit_ more build up." Kate alerted the barman to her empty glass. "I'm not changing roles. I've just decided to leave Middleford."

Emma stood agape. "Just? That's not a just statement. Transfer to where?"

"There's an opening in Aberdeen."

"Scotland?" said Emma incredulously. "But why, why go hundreds of miles?"

"My father has offered me a position in his CID."

"I happen to know that your dad runs the largest auction house in Middleford."

"The man you know to be my father is actually my step-father; my parents divorced when I was ten."

"Ash, how can I have known you all this time and you never told me that?" Emma asked with disbelief.

"What do you want me to say? It never came up."

"Never came up?" Emma said petulantly. "You know everything about me. Who was the first boy I fell for?"

"Ben, aged seven; he gave you his twelve-colour biro," Kate replied without pausing to think.

"Exactly, Ash, exactly. What about your mum, what does she say about all this?" she asked, then quickly added. "Your mum is your mum, isn't she?"

"Of course she is and she's fine about it. I'll visit her... occasionally. It's time to move on," Kate said dismissively.

"You can't go." Emma placed her hand on top of Kate's.

Kate pulled her hand out from underneath Emma's. "I need some air," she announced as she rose and headed for the theatre entrance.

Emma followed her outside and caught her by the elbow.

"Ash, I want..." The words shuddered as she uttered them. A silence fell between them. Emma shook her head. "I don't want you to leave, I..."

A loud crack like a breaking tree branch disturbed them; they turned towards the group of trees by the car park. Kate caught sight of someone and a flash of recognition passed over her. "Is that who I think it is?" said Kate. And it was. They gave chase for some time. They lost sight of Eric a couple of times but quickly found him again. Kate phoned for assistance as they followed him into a disused Victorian factory.

"Ash, hold up." Emma caught Kate by the arm. "What if it's a trap? I don't want to go in there just to get -"

"Scribbs, will you shut up for a moment? Uniform are on their way."

Emma understood Kate's frustration but she was also getting rather annoyed at being dismissed. "Just because your name is Kate doesn't mean like you have to go around acting like a shrew."

"Oh, very clever. Do you think that if you start referring to Shakespeare you'll distract me?"

"Is it working?"

"Slightly," Kate admitted.

They came to an open area that had once been the factory floor. Kids had been making dens from the old machinery and desks. With one hand on the balcony floor, Emma jumped down onto a table with ease; the drop was not significant. "Over there - I can hear running." Emma climbed down, ran off and then stopped when she did not hear Kate behind her. "Ash?" she called out, squinting. She turned around, noticing that Kate was cautiously standing on top of the ledge, looking very wary. "Come on, Alice, down the rabbit hole." Emma climbed back up onto the table. "I'll grab you if you fall."

Kate gave Emma her royal 'we are not amused' face and looked down at the drop. "I'm not sure."

Emma approached and held her hand up to Kate. "Do you trust me, Ash?" Kate exhaled calmly, sat down on the edge, braced herself, and jumped down. Emma caught and steadied her by her waist. "Okay?" Kate simply nodded; she could feel the warmth of Emma's hands on her sides. Another noise and the bang of a door closing came from behind them. They ran on and turned a corner; here the factory became dark, few windows provided moonlight to light their way. They felt their way down the corridor to an office at the end. Kate's arm brushed something and there came a loud sound of smashing glass. Emma smoothed her hands over the walls until she found a light switch; the neon lights zinged on and flickered. "Still power in the old place, then," said Emma. They winced at the brightness but could now see that it was only a crate of empty marmalade jars which had cascaded onto the floor from their position on a filing cabinet. Further down the corridor was a single office with its light on. They stood either side of the door and slowly opened it, waiting to be lunged at by whoever made the noise. They looked down to find Kayleigh curled up in a foetal position.

Kate felt for a pulse. She swallowed and nodded. "Ring for an ambulance."

Middleford Central Hospital

"She's stable but her body has put itself into a coma after a serious asthma attack. It was lucky you got to her when you did," the nurse informed them.

"Phew, that's good," said Emma. "How's the baby doing?"

"We've done an ultrasound and the baby seems healthy. It's not easy keeping a baby stable while mum's in a coma but it's been done before. Do you know why she's in such a poor state? She's not looking good."

"Let's just say that a coma isn't the worst thing that could've happened to her tonight."

CID kitchen

Emma was quietly making a cup of tea when Kate came in, saw her and turned to leave. "Stay," said Emma reaching out to touch Kate on the elbow, but she reacted with a shudder and pulled her arm away. "Can we talk about last night?"

"I think I've made myself pretty clear. You need to strike out on your own. Be your own person, and you can't do that with me here."

"Ash, just buckle it -"

"Button it," Kate corrected.

"My dad says buckle it. Anyway, I don't believe any of that tripe." Emma was getting angry. "Y'know, we've gone through so much, almost lost our friendship and just as I think we've found it again you act like you're giving up on me. Every time I think you're going to tell me what's wrong, you close a door in my face. So come on, cut to the chase, Kate; what's this all about?"

"What was that mini tirade for?"

"It's about your inability to tell me the truth about what's been happening between us."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Emma sighed and slumped against the worksurface. She looked dejected.

Sullivan appeared. "Ah, Scribbs, there you are. A word?"

Sullivan's office

"I wanted to have a talk with you. I really don't want Ash to leave. Can you think of a way to convince her to stay?" From his desk, Sullivan picked up a cricket ball and ran his thumb across the stitching.

"Thing is, boss, I think I'm the reason she's leaving." Emma paced back and forth in front of Sullivan's desk. "I don't know what to do." Sullivan nodded for Emma to carry on. She spoke nervously. "I think I've driven her away by getting too close."

He looked up to her as he leant back in his chair. "Are you telling me that you have feelings for Kate?"

Emma looked at him, feeling slightly relieved that he had asked the question so she would not have to broach the subject herself. "I think so. I. Yes. Sometimes we fall for the wrong person, or maybe the right person. I don't know. What do I do, boss? I'd rather suffer in silence than lose her."

"I don't want her to leave either, Scribbs, but it is her decision. However. I haven't put the transfer in yet. I'm hoping for a last minute mind-change. You know I'm very fond of both of you. Have you told her of these feelings?"

"Hardly. Then she'd definitely leave. The only way to, as she would put it, _woo_ her is by presenting her with a bound ruddy copy of the 'Relationships At Work' policy, with a formal letter from you, giving your consent, attached neatly at the back." She slapped her hands together. "That and posh bloody chocolates. Not that I have that option because a) she's a woman and this has completely thrown me. Actually no, it's that _I'm_ a woman and b) it's Kate. It's doing my head in. I feel like I've lost half of me already."

"Trust me, Ash is too proud to tell you how she feels about your partnership. I mean, she's admitted to me that she hasn't told you what happened when she arrested Ray. It was -"

There came a knock at the door and Kate rushed in. "Kayleigh Clampton just woke up."

* * *

**Part 4**

* * *

Middleford Central Hospital

"The nurses told me you was the ones that brought me in here." Kayleigh sat up, smiling groggily.

"We're really pleased that you're out of danger. In more ways that one," said Emma.

"It was a man named Eric whose flat you were at. Do you remember how you got there?" asked Kate.

"That night at the club he was there waiting for me, outside. I could see in his eyes that he was on something but I'm used to seeing blokes on drugs so I didn't think much of it. When I wouldn't go with him he started screaming about me dying if I didn't go with him right away. He pushed me to the ground and I banged my head and I don't remember getting to the flat." Emma looked up at Kate. She wanted to let her know that she, Kate, had been right about the blood outside the club.

"What happened after that, Kayleigh?" asked Kate.

"We stayed a few nights and then he said we had to move, so he covered my face and took me to this building and we stayed in the offices."

"Did he hurt you?"

"No, not since the night at the club. It was like he was waiting for something. You know what. I'm gonna use your names for the baby, 'cause I'm real grateful, right? The nurses told me it's gonna be a girl," said Kayleigh with a wide smile as she patted her pregnant belly.

"Aw, that's really sweet. Thanks. Whose is the middle name?" asked Emma, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"It's got a dash in it, innit," replied Kayleigh happily.

"Emma _hyphen_ Kate Clampton?" asked Kate, frowning as she gave a thin smile.

* * *

Emma and Kate left the ward, having left their good wishes with the mother-to-be.

"You can stop making that face now," said Emma.

Kate looked a little green with shock. "A baby chav has been named after me."

"Ash! You should be honoured." Emma bit her lip to stop her from laughing at Kate's distress, which she could not help but find cute. "It was a lovely gesture." Her phone began to ring and after a short conversation she quickened her pace. "We need to get back. They've brought in Eric".

CID office  
Kate and Emma watched Sullivan interview Eric on the monitoring television. "He confessed. I can't believe it. So... that's that?" asked Emma.

"Yep," replied Kate. "That's that."

They made their way back to their desks. Emma found Sullivan sitting in her chair. "Well that would appear to be that," he said, standing up.

"That's what we were just saying," said Emma as she sat down and leant her elbows on the desk.

"Shame that it has to be tainted by the loss of an employee." He spoke to directly to Emma but the comment was meant for Kate. "Still, I suppose there's quite a bit of paperwork to be done before the case is quite closed, should anyone want to clear the air."

Emma's house

"I have to know why," Emma said to herself before standing and padding down to the kitchen to make a drink. '_Was I too overtly interested in her?'_ Mug in hand, she approached the stairs but trod on her carelessly discarded satchel bag. The strap looped around her ankle and she found herself dragging it along. Placing her mug on the stairs she proceeded to unhook herself, throwing the bag to one side. As it fell it opened it reveal a file. '_Oh no, I haven't brought home paperwork, again, have I?_' She wrenched it out and turned it over in her hands, soon realising that its date was from a few months previous. Upon opening it, it quickly occurred to her that someone might be playing a cruel trick on her: it was the case file for the murder of Rick Scott, for which she had stood accused and was subsequently cleared of all charges.

Curious, having never looked at the file before, she gathered it up and took it to bed to read. Sitting back against a propped-up pillow, Emma marvelled at the detail and depth that the investigation had gone into in such a short time. The majority of the paperwork had been completed meticulously by Kate. Emma had never considered asking her how the case had been resolved. She read about the surveillance wire that Kate wore in order to tape her conversation with the actual murderer: Ray Stabeller. Emma was touched by the clear passion shown by her partner, '_or should that be ex-partner?'_ Emma thought sadly. Did Kate care after all? Emma noted that Ray lived at Northfield Estate and wondered if that was why Kate had been unwilling to take her there. Suddenly Emma sat up, tightly clutching a piece of paper in both hands. "Oh my god, she got shot? What the hell?"

Kate's flat

All around them were stacks of perfectly-labelled storage boxes. One item not packaged was the sofa, which Emma and Kate were sitting on. Emma pulled one leg onto the sofa and sat sideways so she could look at Kate, who was prepared only to look at the blank wall. The CD that Emma had given Kate for her birthday finished its last song, and the player clicked off.

"I don't know if I can say this," said Kate.

"I could nip out and get some table tennis bats, then you could go across the road and do semaphore," said Emma with a tinge of frustration in her voice.

"Semaphore is flags. Bats are for guiding aircraft."

"Fine then, you can bring a plane in to land and ask _them_ to tell me." Emma smiled and tried to look into Kate's eyes.

Kate's smile came and then faded. "I don't want you to think badly of me."

"You can't leave without explaining this to me. B'sides, I won't."

Kate sighed and her psyche unbound itself just enough to let loose her previously trapped thoughts. She turned her body and reflected Emma's posture. "I've had this feeling - like falling - like reacting to a burn. It's become a ghastly uncontrollable feeling; I feel wretched." She held her left hand to her head, shifted her fringe to one side and pressed her temple.

"When did you start feeling like this?"

"When you were accused of Rick's murder. That morning in the park."

"When I legged it from the station?" Kate's only response was a nod. Emma drew a deep breath. "You don't have to feel guilty about that; I wouldn't want you to."

"No."

"Good."

"No. I mean I don't feel guilty. It's not guilt." She pronounced the last words very definitely.

"What is it then?" asked Emma hesitantly.

"I just can't be here any more. You'll be fine without me. You're a good detective. You should apply for Inspectorship."

"What're you talking about? I like things how they are. _You're_ my Inspector. We make a great team." Emma's heart sank. '_Stop now and let her go_,' she thought.

"I can't cope with this torn feeling anymore. Worrying about you, loving you, working with you and feeling this way: they're just mutually exclusive things."

"Mutually exclusive? Isn't that maths or something, with the circles?"

"Mm-hm," said Kate quietly.

"Where two things can't exist or happen at the same time?"

"Something like that."

"Wait, wait. Love me?" Emma's eyes widened.

"I didn't mean love," replied Kate, starting to look uncomfortable.

"You said 'loving you', me, loving me," said Emma hopefully.

"Didn't."

"Did."

"Didn't."

"Did."

"Of course I love you, you're my best -"

"Friend?" Emma interrupted. "I don't think that's what you meant."

"What does it matter anyway?" asked Kate.

"Of course it matters. You've always mattered to me." Emma reached out for Kate's cheek but she swiftly turned her head away. "You're not gonna say that you like me against your better judgement or something, are you? 'Cause that is way too Jane Austen." Emma grimaced.

"No, of course not."

"Then you like me but don't fancy me? I'm not exactly your usual type."

"No, it's not that," said Kate.

"So you're saying you would run out on me rather than take a chance on us. That's so like you."

"There is no chance. There is no us to take a chance on." Kate closed her eyes tight shut to stop a tear formed from frustration.

"You know that for certain, do you? Look at me. Do you?" Emma started to breathe more quickly as a feeling of fervour rose in her.

"It's not who you are and it's certainly not who I am." Kate struggled to keep on top of her emotions.

"Kate. Damn it. Stop applying rules and regulations to your life and definitely stop applying them to mine. We don't all fit in nice tidy boxes."

"You certainly don't." Kate gave a smile that showed her teeth.

"That's better." Emma smiled back at her.

"I don't know if I can bear to keep falling like this." She pulled a tissue out from her sleeve and blew her nose.

"Sometimes you have to fall a few times to know where you're going. That's what makes life interesting."

"I don't know if I can live such an unordered life. I don't want to take those falls."

"How will you know 'til you try? Get swept up for once."

"There's no point, Scribbs." Kate shook her head. "It's time to say goodbye."

"Close your eyes." Kate just looked at her suspiciously. "Close your eyes," Emma said more sternly.

Kate closed them obligingly. "What are you going to do? Push me over?" she said casually.

Emma bit her lip and smiled, her cheeks glowing. She leant forward nervously. "Not exactly."

Kate was suddenly aware of the close proximity of Emma's mouth to her own; she frowned and swallowed, breathing nervously. Emma moved to one side and spoke softly into Kate's ear. "What the hell made -"

The phone purred into life and Kate immediately leant away, opened her eyes and picked it up. "Ashurst."

"Shit," Emma muttered under her breath.

"There's been another murder," announced Kate as she began slipping her shoes on, having instantly switched into work mode. "On Northfields Estate."

Northfields Estate

Kate looked up at the imposing building and then down at the body of the young girl who was now shrouded in black, ready to be transported. She shivered. "Back to square one."

"What if Eric was protecting Kayleigh? I mean, we arrived just in time to call for an ambulance," said Emma as she leant back against the railings.

"What are you implying? That Eric led us to her, in order to save her life?"

"Well we know that he didn't kill _this_ girl because he's still in custody."

"You're right. Maybe he was protecting her all along, knowing that the real murderer was going to come here, to Kayleigh's estate. And when the killer found that Kayleigh wasn't here, this girl provided a suitable replacement. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"If he really wanted to protect Kayleigh, why didn't he inform the police?"

Kate held onto a railing and pulled away flakes of green enamel paint. "Maybe it was a colleague at the hospital, someone else who would have had access to patient data. After all, half the girls killed were barely a few months into their pregnancies; they weren't even showing."

"I think it's our turn to talk to Eric."

The black ambulance drove away and Emma and Kate walked back to the car.

Emma's car

"Don't," said Kate.

"Don't what? I didn't say anything." Emma clung onto the steering wheel.

"Don't ask me about earlier."

"By you saying that, you're implying that you want me to ask you about earlier."

"I'm just saying…" She did not add anything else but she was desperate for Emma to ask her.

"Let's just get this case closed then we can _not_ talk about earlier all you want."

Interview corridor

Kate rubbed her temples. Eric had been unhelpful; he had squirmed in his seat and given them no information. "This isn't working. He must know who committed this last murder," she said.

"Not necessarily. Maybe it was a copy-cat," suggested Emma as she sat down on a cast iron radiator.

"The method of strangulation hasn't been released to the public."

"Right, yeah. They wouldn't have known about the cloth."

"Who is the one person you would have trouble reporting to the police? A lover?"

"A mother," Emma offered casually.

Kate spun around on her heel and threw her arms out to her sides, fingers splayed, as she announced her realisation. "Eric didn't have any brothers or sisters."

"So?"

"His mother said she brought many children into the world. She's got to be a doctor or a midwife. You go and check up on that and I'll put some pressure on Master Granby."

Interview Room 1

"Whoever committed these murders has deviated from their plan, Eric. Another girl has been murdered and this time she wasn't pregnant. It's a break from the killer's pattern and that could make her very dangerous," said Kate, sitting back in her seat.

Eric's eyes flickered at the mention of the pronoun implying a female killer. "You can't know," he said nervously.

"What is it we can't know, Eric?"

"I… I thought that if I didn't help her she would stop. I tried to warn the girl, Elizabeth, but she wouldn't listen."

"What happened with Kayleigh?" asked Kate.

"She was next on the list. I hid her away but she got ill and I didn't know what to do. When I saw you and your colleague I thought maybe I could lead you to her, and you could take her to hospital." His leg began to jitter involuntarily. "Did you find her?"

"We did. She'll be okay. I have a problem, Eric. I still don't know if you were one half of a team or an unwilling party."

"It doesn't matter. I've confessed. I was involved and I deserve to be punished."

"We have to stop your mother; I assume that's who you're protecting."

He closed his eyes. "She believes in her mission. You won't be able to make her feel guilty."

"It doesn't matter. What matters is saving another life."

Interview corridor

"We've got an ID on Susan Granby. Someone's seen her near Hope Park," said Emma as Kate exited the interview room.

Hope Park

The crowds gathered for the open air production of A Midsummer Night's Dream. A fresh-faced Molly Walmsley pushed herself out of her seat and went to buy a drink. Her winter coat covered her pregnant stomach insufficiently. Moving away from the food and drink stall she leant backwards, held a hand against her back and almost dropped her polystyrene cup of tea.

"Let me help you there," Susan offered kindly, holding Molly by the arm.

"Thanks."

"How far along are you?"

"Almost six months now. My back is just giving me a bit of trouble."

"Oh, don't worry about it. We get a lot of girls at the hospital with the same problem."

"You're a…?"

"Midwife, yes."

"Oh, that's nice. What _would_ we do without you?"

Susan slipped her hand into her shoulder bag and grasped onto the folded strip of white cloth. She led Molly away from the crowds. "How old are you now?"

"She's twenty-one, actually," came a voice from behind them, "but I'll admit it, she does look a lot younger." Emma stepped into view. "And she's a police constable, if that's of any interest." Two uniformed officers approached and cuffed the scowling Susan, then hauled her away to their car.

"Thanks, Moll. Worked like a treat."

Molly left to join Sullivan and another group of plain-clothed officers who had been covering the area. They were happily chatting about the final success of the investigation and arranging a trip to the local pub.

Emma wandered over to Kate, who was standing alone, watching the actors set up their informal stage. "Do you have time to stay for a goodbye drink, Ash?"

Kate turned to look at Emma, whose blonde hair was being flicked about her ears by the chill wind. "Maybe."

"I think the guys would really appreciate it." Emma looked down at her shoes. "I'm really going to miss you, Kate."

"That's it, that's the end of it. I can't do this anymore." Kate made a swiping motion with her hand.

"Can't what?"

"Simple. I can't... I can't... okay, this isn't simple." Kate stumbled over her words. Emma frowned, wanting to help her. "Oh, for heaven's sake." Kate placed her fingertips at either side of Emma's jaw line and gently pulled her lips to her own. She paused momentarily to touch noses and look into her partner's warm brown eyes, checking to see if she would be a willing party. Emma quickly succumbed to the kiss and melted into the warmth of it.

* * *

"Is that Ashurst and Scribbins kissing in front of half the population of Middleford?" asked Molly as she drank her tea.

"Yup, they just got together. I think," replied Gallimore.

"That is so weird. I can't believe it."

"Life takes its turns," said Sullivan.

"I just mean it's weird because I thought they'd been together for years," she replied.

"Ah, yes, I can see now how it might seem that way," said Sullivan.

A small, old couple approached Gallimore. The woman prodded him in the belly. "Hello dearie, which play's this then?"

"Er… it's just Ash and Scribbs," replied Gallimore.

The woman's husband unfolded two portable chairs and the couple sat down, opening a flask of tea. "I don't know that one; is it by Chekov?"

* * *

After a moment, Emma pulled away from Kate, stunned but happy. "You do realise everyone is watching?"

"With what goes on around here I'm sure we couldn't shock even the most civilised of housewives."

Emma grinned. "Mutually exclusive, my arse. You're not going anywhere. We're fantastic together." This time, Emma reached forward and grabbed Kate by her coat, drawing her in for a long and ardent kiss.


	7. Swindler's Sweet Talk

Moving animatedly about the room, the young man read on, his small audience captivated. "The chain he drew was clasped about his middle. It was long, and wound about him like a tail; and it was made of cash-boxes, keys, padlocks and heavy purses wrought in steel. His body was transparent; so that Scrooge, observing him, and looking through his waistcoat, could see the two buttons on his coat behind." The children sat up and snuggled against their mother, regaled by their father's engaging reading. As the story became more frightening and more exciting, they clasped onto their dolls and teddy bears to protect them from the ghosts to come. The room was warm and cosy, a play room with a Victorian doll's house and a roaring fire, echoing Christmases of old.

If you were to drift from that window, down to the ground floor and along to the next in this street of houses, you would find an altogether dourer affair. A much older man sat at his desk, alone in his study, rustling papers and scratching at records with an expensive but tired cartridge pen. He was listening to the radio as the music turned to carols. He leant over, switched it off and tutted to himself. Ashes now cold in the fireplace, he shivered and, feeling a draught, he went to the window to draw the curtains. Outside, a figure moved towards him and across the grass, up to the sash windows. A jolt of cold ran through him and he squinted at the figure. "It can't be," he said to himself, stuttering. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, but upon opening them he found nothing. Shaking away the memory, he went back to his desk and continued his work. His desk lamp, which was brass with a green glass shade, crackled and flickered. He traced the cord to the switch and pulled at the loose wire. "Bloody thing." It flicked off, plunging him into darkness.

The door handle began to turn, light streaming through the keyhole. "Christina? Is that you? The bloody lamp's died. Christina?" The door opened and a dark hooded figure entered, its face cast in shadow.

The figure spoke softly and evenly. "Liam."

"Who is that? No one calls me that anymore," William replied sternly, standing up. He stepped forward to catch a glimpse of the person's features. He saw blazing blue eyes and a moustache that curled round into sideburns. "Patrick?"

"None other. I know what you did to me, Liam."

"No. No." William stepped backwards and stumbled against his chair, which rolled away from him. He felt inexplicably cold and his heart raced beyond its limit. He collapsed to the floor.

"Tell me where you hid it, Liam."

"I... I..." he began, before taking his last breath.

* * *

**Part 1**

* * *

Sullivan's office

"Three partners, Scribbs. All of whom have walked out on you because of your... eccentricities," explained Sullivan.

"They're not eccentricities; they're just my methods," shrugged Emma, slouching in her seat.

"DI Curtis said you left him stranded during a stakeout because you, I quote, 'Wandered off, having seen someone who looked a bit like DI Kate Ashurst'."

"Easy mistake to make."

"DI Cranford has told me you're consistently late and that you disregard proper procedure for obtaining search warrants."

"It's never been a problem before."

"You had someone to cover for you before. Not to mention you've gone home ill, claiming to be suffering from 'women's problems'."

"Hey, I can't help that," she pouted.

"Consistently, once a week and for the past four weeks, Scribbs? Coincidentally, always upon mention of paperwork?" He narrowed his eyes.

Emma wrinkled her nose and tried to think of a suitable reply.

"I think you do have a problem and it does involve a woman," he went on.

"It's not my fault Kate buggered off up to Scotland."

"You can't blame all your inadequacies on the absence of Ash. It's got to stop."

"I'm adjusting; it's a slow process."

"You've had five weeks."

"Very slow process."

"You're going to have to adapt, and fast. Is there anything I can do to aid the change?"

"Find me an inspector who'll spout rules, correct my spelling and tell me off about my posture?" she offered.

"We could send you to a deportment school, Scribbs, but I can't replace Ash."

"You're right. You can't." She mused to herself for a while. "Boss, remind me, how much notice do you need for a week's holiday?"

"We require a day for a day, a week for a week." He sat back and crossed his arms. "Which you already know."

"How's about no notice for six days?" bargained Emma, sitting forward.

"How about five days' notice for six days?" he replied.

"How's about one day's notice for five days?"

Sullivan sat forward, reflecting Emma's pose. "How about letting me know what it is you're planning?"

Northern Trains

Emma crossed her arms and tried to snuggle up to the cold window. She watched raindrops racing down the other side of the glass.

"You alright, love? You look bored," said the young man who sat down beside her; he was wearing a baseball cap and a poorly-grown goatee.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks."

"I knew you'd be a talker. I hate it when you're next to someone who just reads or something." Emma nodded in response. "So, where're you going?"

"Aberdeen, for work."

"At Christmas? You fookin' nutter." He laughed. "Ah, you're alright."

"What're you going up for?" Emma asked politely.

"I'm going to see my girlfriend."

"That's nice. Been together long?"

"Six months. Met on the internet."

"She does know what you look like, doesn't she?"

"Don't be daft; 'course she does," he replied.

Emma looked down at her scarf and played with the tassel ends. "I'm hoping to get together with someone while I'm away."

"Up there? Do you work with him?"

Emma swallowed nervously. "It's a she, actually."

"Alright! Shake my hand," he said enthusiastically, taking up her hand in his own. "Excellent, I like it. Good on you. Hey, she does know you're a bird, doesn't she?"

"'Course she does." Emma smiled to herself.

Stonehaven Police Station

Emma entered, weary after her long journey. She was wearing her long, thick, fake fur coat, soft fluffy boots, scarf, woolly hat and mittens.

"Bloody hell, sweetheart. It's Scotland, not Narnia," laughed a kind-faced, slightly stocky man in uniform. He stepped forward to introduce himself. "Superintendent Faraday. I assume you're Sergeant Scribbins."

"That's right." Emma shook his hand and then removed her hat, mittens and scarf, roughly running her hand through her hair to tidy it. "Nice to meet you."

"Well, welcome to the fold." Matthew Faraday had a short, soft white beard to match his greying hair. He pulled at a tuft on his chin as he looked around thoughtfully. "Callum, have you seen Kate?"

The officer, who was behind a desk, perked up and replied. "She's out looking at that body someone found."

Matthew tutted to himself and turned back to Emma. "Of course. When she gets back, I'll have to introduce you."

"Er..." Emma was about to speak when they were disturbed by the doors to the station blowing open, carrying with them a light flurry of snow.

Kate entered with Forbes, a young, plain-clothed officer. Brushing down her coat, she removed it and hung it up on a rack on the wall. "It wasn't a dead body at all - just a ghastly inflatable Santa. It had blown off the neighbour's roof and into the compost heap."

"Kate stabbed it the head with her pen; it was _pretty_ much dead after that," added Forbes.

Kate walked directly past Emma and began lifting papers, clearly looking for something. "Have you seen my case notes on the Kinnell case? I need to interview the rest of the family of the -" she turned around to talk to the Superintendent and immediately spotted Emma. Mouth open, she blinked for a few seconds. "No, no, no, no, no." She took Emma roughly by the arm and began marching her out of the door. Emma looked back, seeking help from the other police officers.

"Kate, stop pestering the girl. She's working here, you mare," said Matthew.

Kate stopped in her tracks. "Working here?" she said to Emma, sternly, still gripping her arm painfully tightly.

"Secondment." Emma smiled at her widely but nervously. "Surprise," she uttered, weakly.

Matthew walked over to introduce them. "This here is Emma Scribbins. She's a Detective Sergeant from down south." He turned to Kate, who was looking as him like he was mad. He turned back to Emma and pointed at Kate. "And this is Kate Ashurst. She's a Detective too." Emma smiled back at him, trying not to laugh. He leant over to whisper in her ear. "Don't mind Kate. She can be a bit much sometimes. I should know - I'm her blimmin' father."

* * *

"My boss wanted me to build up an idea of other working practices and try to _improve relations_." On the last two words, Emma tried to raise her voice and catch Kate's attention.

"Right, hence the intradepartmental secondment," said Matthew.

"Inter," Kate corrected, without looking up from her paperwork.

"Listen to that... merciless. My own bairn as well. Next she'll be telling me how to blow eggs."

"Suck eggs," said Kate, turning a page.

Matthew leant forward to whisper to Emma. "I let her have that one. I find it pays to let her feel superior once in a while."

Stonehaven CID

"It's Christmas, Emma. I wouldn't hear of it and neither would Kate," announced Matthew. "I won't take no for an answer."

"What's going on? What is it I'm party to, without being wholly aware of?" asked Kate, sitting down opposite Emma.

"I've asked Emma to come and stay with us. She was going to book into a B&B - can you believe it?"

"No, I can't." Kate crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at Emma.

"So I said we wouldn't hear of it."

"I'm really grateful," Emma said, honestly.

"You bloody should be, Scribbs."

"You've got a nickname for her already, Kate?" asked Matthew. "Wait a mo' - Scribbs. I know that name. What town are you from again?"

"Middleford."

"Oh, bloody hell - you know each other, don't you?" Matthew asked.

"We were -" Emma winced at the sharp pain inflicted by Kate's shoe upon contact with her ankle.

"Partners," said Kate.

"That's what I was going to say," mouthed Emma to Kate, rubbing her ankle.

Matthew Faraday's house

The stone-built house was nestled among other similarly-styled houses; it was a little way down from the local pub and the old converted train station post office. The town was close enough to the coast for the air to smell salty, and seagulls squawked noisily overhead. The house itself was snug and clean but there was still the taint of bachelorism, with which Emma was all too familiar. In terms of decoration it was very modest; a bit of foliage, such as clumps of ribboned holly and ivy, hung from various points along the walls. What made it feel like Christmas for Emma was the smell of the real pine tree, the blazing fireplace, and winter's ever early dusk. She wandered through to the spare bedroom, which was a quaint room with a carpet the colour of rolled oats. She sat down on the cosy double bed and let herself flop back on it.

After making a somewhat feeble attempt at unpacking, Emma made her way through to the dining room. There was a sound of cracking from the corner of the room; she turned to see Kate, who was standing by the side board and cracking nuts into a bowl, one after the other, with a look of great severity.

"You going to eat those?"

"Nope," Kate replied, continuing to release her anger on a collection of walnuts.

Emma winced. Suddenly, her plan was looking much harder than she had previously imagined.

Matthew's kitchen

"Soup all right?" asked Matthew, as Emma entered the kitchen.

"Yeah, great," she replied.

"If you can't boil it and blend it, I can't make it."

Emma smiled up at him. "Is Kate alright?"

"She's been... a bit... pathetic."

"Pathetic? In what sense?"

"Erm." Matthew thought for a moment, searching for a suitable paradigm. "Puppy in the rain."

"Oh. Aw."

"All forlorn and whatnot. What happened down there in Middleford? Did someone break her heart?" He suddenly looked very concerned.

"Actually, it's sort of the other way round."

Kate's room

There came a small knock at the door.

"Yes?" Kate called out from the comfort of her bed.

Emma entered, wearing pyjamas, and closed the door behind her. "Ash, I'm freezing." She hugged herself and shivered.

"Very well." Kate pulled back the covers. Emma rushed forward, assuming she was being invited into bed; instead, she found a furry hot water bottle being thrust in her direction.

"Oh. Thanks." Emma took it and began padding back to the door in a thick pair of fisherman socks.

"Where did you get those?"

"What? Oh, these," she said, looking down at her feet. "Your dad lent them to me."

"It doesn't take you long, does it, Scribbs?"

"To do what?"

"To work your way into people's hearts."

"They're just socks, Ash."

* * *

**Part 2**

* * *

Stonehaven Police Station

"We used to have this tradition when the kids were wee. We'd come to Stonehaven for Christmas and stay with my family. The night before Christmas Eve, we'd all go to Dunnottar Castle for a walk. If anyone saw a shooting star, they'd be allowed to open two presents on Christmas Eve instead of one," explained Matthew. "Since their mother and I separated and I moved back here, it seemed too far to drag Kate and Tom, but we agreed that the kids would come and stay with me every Christmas. Lydia always preferred spending the time with her socialite friends, anyway. Kate's been coming here for Christmas ever since."

"I always wondered where she went. She never said much, only that it was a 'family thing'," said Emma.

"She keeps things close to her chest, does that one."

"Do you two still go to the castle on the eve eve?"

"No, not in a long time."

"Let's do it. Let's go tomorrow," Emma said, excitedly.

Kate approached and called Emma aside. "Will you stop talking to my father?" she whispered.

"Why? He's nice."

"You can help me with my investigation. Anything to stop you from getting in the way." Kate walked purposefully towards the mortuary corridor.

Stonehaven Police Station mortuary

"Extra Strong Mint?" asked Emma. Kate took one, popped it in her mouth and entered the mortuary. Emma followed suit.

"What was the cause of death?" asked Emma. Kate stood beside her, surveying the grey body of William Kinnell.

"Guess!" offered the cheery doctor, who had a sprig of mistletoe attached to his lapel.

"Guess?" asked Emma, confused.

"It's fine - go on," said Kate.

Emma perked up. "Um, well, no physical wounds - that I can see, anyway. He's not ancient but he's no spring chicken. Dunno. Heart failure?"

"Spot on." The doctor placed one finger on his nose and pointed at her with his free hand. "Got it in one. Someone give that girl a prize. Cardiac Arrhythmia leading to sudden heart failure. Plus I'd say he was scared to death."

"Really?" asked Emma, surprised at the conjecture.

"I'd be willing to stake my left kidney on it, despite that sort of thing being a bit of an urban legend. But hey, did you know that being scared is almost as good as a workout? He'd be fitter if he werenae dead."

"If he was scared to death, then there's no real culprit?"

"There was an assailant of sorts, though; he or she was in William Kinnell's study moments before he died," explained Kate.

"So there were witnesses?"

"Aaron Kinnell, William's son. He received a nasty surface wound to the head from the fleeing aggressor. He said he was thrown to one side and then he banged his head on the wall. The wife, Christina, also said that she heard some sort of argument."

"Still can't really press charges against whoever it was for being scary."

"That's beside the point. We've been asked to investigate because the insurance company won't pay out from the life policy until we've confirmed cause of death."

The back doors to the mortuary blew open, and two people pulled a trolley through and placed a fresh corpse alongside the body of William Kinnell. One of the lab technicians began writing out a tag for the toe. Emma peered over and read it.

"Um, Ash, I think your case just got bigger."

"What do you mean?" She leaned over and read the name: 'Christina Kinnell'.

Kate's car

Kate drove to the Kinnell house; Emma accompanied her. The windscreen wipers had to work hard to keep the snow clear.

"You going to give me the low-down on the case, then?" asked Emma.

"Very well." Kate began to reel off the details. "William Kinnell, co-owner of 'Chambers, Kinnell and Barker', a very successful law firm. Wife, Christina, retired solicitor. Two daughters, Eileen and Mary, a vicar and an artist, respectively. One son, Aaron, currently studying law at Aberdeen University."

"Mummy and Daddy's golden boy, no doubt."

"Quite, except he's an orphan now."

"Poor guy. What did the wife say about the night William died?" asked Emma.

"When I interviewed her, she said that all the downstairs lights had gone, apart from the one in the hallway, which is on a different circuit. She was in the next room and she claims she heard a man call her husband 'Liam'."

"Why is that important?"

"Only his business partner Patrick Chambers called him that."

"Right, have you interviewed Patrick?"

"He died, under a veil of mystery, twelve years ago."

"Oh, so maybe he faked his own death."

"Nope, I checked. They have footage of him falling in front of the train."

"Ow." Emma physically cringed. "Not him, then. Unless it was his ghost, Christmas Carol stylee."

Kinnell family house

To the right of the entrance hallway, a white jagged outline of tape represented the area where Christina has been found by her daughter, Mary. With no sign of the murder weapon there were few clues to look for.

"So if William was done in by Patrick Chambers aka Jacob Marley, then Christina must've been murdered by The Ghost of Christmas Present?" offered Emma, speaking in a spooky voice. She peered into all the open rooms, her feet shuffling about in protective paper covers, which made her shoes look like they were wearing shower caps.

"Past," said Kate as she looked for evidence of forced entry.

"What is?"

"The Ghost of Christmas Past is the first. And don't even think about saying 'God bless us, every one' or I shall force you to sit in the car."

"Humbug," Emma muttered under her breath. With latex-gloved hands she examined the contents of Christina's handbag by pouring it onto the desk. She picked up a small, colourful business card which claimed 'Contact with the dead. Discreet service.' She transferred everything to an evidence bag and watched Kate, who was carefully running her fingers along the edge of the study's sash window.

"It's been jimmied open, so a definite forced entry. It wasn't like this when I visited yesterday."

* * *

Out in the hallway, Kate suddenly noticed something amiss. She snapped her fingers. "The grandfather clock."

Stonehaven Police Station

"How do you take your coffee, Emma?" asked a female constable.

Emma opened her mouth but the answers came from Kate.

"Milk, two sugars."

"Er, right," said the constable, walking off.

"I know you don't want me to get pally with anyone but this is getting a bit much," said Emma.

An officer entered with a note for Kate.

"What's that about?" Emma leant forward to read, inadvertently giving Kate a direct view down her cleavage.

Kate coughed and moved away. "We've had a tip-off. A conman, who goes by the name of Paul Cantanzo, has been targeting bereaved family members, tricking them into revealing the locations of their more valuable possessions. It seems he may have been the one who broke into the Kinnell's house."

"He doesn't pretend to be a medium, does he?"

"How did you know?"

"Sixth sense." Emma smiled.

Stonehaven Police Station

Kate and Emma approached the interview room from different ends of the corridor.

"Any luck with getting hold of Kinnell's business partner?" asked Kate.

"They've said he's not in but they'll page him saying we want an interview," replied Emma.

"Right, let's have a word with Mary." Kate opened the door. Mary Kinnell sat with her solicitor, looking nervous. "So, Miss -"

A bleeping noise came from the solicitor's pocket; he apologised as he checked his pager. "Just another message asking me to come here. Do continue."

Kate and Emma looked at each other. "I think you'd better read that again... Mr Geoffrey Barker, is it?"

He re-read the page. "Oh, I see."

"You're next up," Emma said to him.

"As I was saying, Miss Kinnell. You were staying with your parents at the times of their deaths," said Kate.

Mary gulped and held a tissue to her to her nose as she snivelled. "I've just been through a separation and I'm not selling enough to live alone."

"You'll be able to afford it now," stated Emma.

"The upkeep of that house alone is double what I earn."

"But when your father's life insurance policy money comes through, you, Aaron and Eileen will be very well off," said Kate.

"Life insurance?" Mary looked up, confused. She turned to Geoffrey, who shrugged.

"Are you saying you were unaware of the policy, Mary?" asked Emma.

"No. I mean, yes, I was unaware."

"Did you see or hear anything last night?"

Mary blew her nose noisily. "Nothing." She began crying uncontrollably and Geoffrey comforted her.

Emma opened the interview room door and summoned an officer. "Can you take her somewhere and get her a drink, please?"

Mary left the room and Kate announced the change to the tape recording. "So, Mr Barker," she continued. "Can you inform us of your whereabouts on the last two nights?"

"Oh, really, come on. You don't honestly think..." he began.

"A larger share in the business; that's got to be tempting," said Emma.

"I was unaware that William's death was even under investigation."

"Not as such, but Christina's is," Kate stated.

"Well, I was away in London last night; you can check with the hotel, my credit card company, anything you like."

"What first name did you use to address Mr Kinnell?" asked Emma, curious.

"Well, William of course. Will occasionally."

"Were you acquainted with Patrick Chambers?"

"Before my time. We retained his name in the company title for reputation only."

Matthew's kitchen

Kate took a piece of carrot from the chopping board and started to nibble on it.

"Dad -" she began, but was distracted when Emma started giggling. "Excuse me for a moment." She led Emma off into another room. "What is it now?"

"You call your dad 'Dad'."

"And this amuses you why?"

"It just sounds so wrong."

"What do you expect me to call him? Pater?"

"Yeah," nodded Emma, still laughing.

Kate rolled her eyes.

Kate's room

Emma knocked and strolled in. The room was in Kate's normal minimalist style, apart from a single ragdoll, which sat on a painted cast iron fireplace mantle. It had had its eyes sewn in place several times and the dress was ripped, with locks of woollen hair cut from its head.

"This yours?" Emma asked. Kate nodded. "I would've expected all your toys to be pristine."

"Not for lack of trying. I happened to have a very evil little brother."

"I really need to meet him some time."

"Somehow I don't think so." Kate shook her head.

"What exactly is the problem, Ash? Do you think I'm going to embarrass you in front of him?"

"You'd fancy him and it would be weird."

"I haven't looked twice at anyone else since you kissed me."

"Shh. Keep it down."

"I've _never_ worked this hard at being with someone."

"Am I supposed to be impressed by that?"

"Yes! You know what I'm like; I don't put effort into relationships."

Kate pressed her temple. "Why did you have to come here?"

"I told you I'd miss you and I do. I have."

"You know it couldn't work between us."

"Let's face it, you're already the longest relationship I've been in and we've only kissed, what, twice."

"You can't include friendship time."

"Who says? The Penguin Book of Loves and Lovers?" joked Emma.

"_I_ say." Kate pointed at herself.

Dunnottar Castle

They approached the castle as the sun was setting and the moon was taking its place as the main provider of light for the area. The sound of waves breaking against the base of the cliff below was dramatic yet calming. Boundary conditions of sea and shore; standing on one side, looking out at the other. Frost made the stone walkway appear to be coated in diamond dust, and the grass was crisp underfoot.

"Be careful," Kate called out to her father as he wandered off.

"Aye, I will be," he called back.

"He always does this," she said to Emma.

"Look, a shooting star." Emma pointed skywards.

"Nope, that's a stationary star with clouds moving either side of it."

"Good try, though."

"Yes, Scribbs. Nice try."

"It's a nice night. Very romantic... the moon, the stars, the sea."

"The inability to feel the tips of my fingers despite my gloves," added Kate.

"Here." Emma pulled off all four of their gloves and tucked them under one arm. She began briskly rubbing Kate's bare hands between her own. The sensation was pleasant, if a little sore. Every so often Emma would breathe hot air onto their hands to warm them.

"I feel like a twillup," said Kate.

"There's no one here." Emma passed Kate her gloves. "All done."

"So, when do you go back to Middleford?" asked Kate.

Emma was disappointed at the question. "I've been given a week."

"You sound like you've been set a challenge."

_'Feels like it,'_ thought Emma. "I'm here for you - you know that. I suppose you'd rather I hadn't come?" she asked, hoping to receive an answer in the negative.

Kate was silent.

"Y'know, Ash, I've got three rules," said Emma, angrily.

"_You_ have rules?"

Emma held a thumb up. "One. Don't kiss a girl and then bugger off to Scotland without so much as a by-your-leave."

"I didn't need your permission to go," interrupted Kate.

Emma continued, this time extending her forefinger. "Two. If someone turns up after having travelled five hundred miles, don't try to send them packing."

"These are a bit specific. Not very good for general use."

"And three..." She could not think of a third. "You've put me off now." She let her hand flop down. "Point is, you can't just kiss me like that and then go."

"I just... I had to know." Kate stormed off.

"What? Had to know what?" Emma chased after her.

"Whether I truly have feelings for you."

"And you don't?" Emma asked nervously and slowed her pace a little.

Kate stopped abruptly and turned to face Emma, who almost crashed into her. "If I didn't, then I could have stayed."

* * *

**Part 3**

* * *

Spare room

The sound of Slade's Noddy Holder screaming 'It's Christmas!' from the radio alarm clock woke Emma from her deep sleep. She quickly snoozed the alarm, snuggled up and watched snow falling lazily outside the window. There came a knock at the door and Matthew called through.

"Morning."

"Morning," Emma called back, rubbing at her eyes.

"You decent?"

"Yep." She sat up and pulled the covers around her.

Matthew came in carrying three mugs of tea in one hand; he placed one down by Emma's bedside. "I've put a dram of whiskey in there as Kate tells me you're a bit like me."

"A drinker?"

"Trouble getting up in the mornings," he explained.

Emma nodded in appreciation of her sympathiser.

Stonehaven CID

"What do we know about conmen?" Kate was faced with blank stares. She sighed. "Scribbs?"

Emma, who had been watching Kate pace about the room, awoke from her reverie. "Mm?"

"Conmen, Scribbs."

"They're clever and quick," Emma replied.

"And?"

"They can talk themselves out of any situation."

"So?"

"They're very slippery customers when it comes to police investigations."

"Remind me, again, why you two aren't working together anymore?" asked Callum as he folded back the corner of his newspaper to look at them.

"So I want a full background check on Paul Cantanzo. Any dodgy dealings, previous convictions, anything," Kate continued.

"We'll get right onto that, Kate." They shuffled out to get on with their work, leaving Kate and Emma alone.

"I'm not used to people calling you by your real name. It's weirding me out," said Emma. As she reached over the desk, the fabric of her tight trousers stretched across her neat bottom.

Kate could not help but stare. _'This wasn't such a problem before I kissed her,''_ thought Kate. She too clicked out of her reverie and found herself shouting at Emma. "Jesus Christ, you are driving me absolutely _crazy_ with your... ways." She held her forehead and, feeling slightly embarrassed at her outburst, exited the room, leaving a stunned Emma wondering exactly what it was that she did.

Interview room

"I didnae kill no one," protested Paul.

"So you did kill someone?" suggested Kate. "That is, if you did not kill no one person, then you did kill one or more?"

"What's she talking about?" Paul looked up to Emma.

"Did you kill Christina Kinnell, Paul?" asked Emma.

"No."

"Then what happened?"

"I'll admit that we met. She came to see me, to buy my services."

"When was this?" asked Kate.

"The twenty-first. She had an appointment for ten in the morning."

"The day after her husband's death," noted Emma, "and the morning of her own."

"She played the grieving widow very well."

"What do you mean 'played'?" asked Kate.

"She didnae mean it; it was written all over her face. She wasn't being herself. All those fake tears. Constantly had a hanky in front of her face - now that's what I call pure body language for lying. Can I go now?"

"Not this time, Paul. We traced the auction house that sells on your stolen goods. They're bringing in the grandfather clock which you and your associates took from the Kinnells' house."

"Just one other question: how is it that you trick people into telling you where they keep their valuables?" asked Emma, interested.

"Ah, now that would be telling," he replied.

Evidence room

Emma strolled into the room to find a group of officers, including Kate. "Is that it then?" Emma asked. "Not very spectacular; my Great Auntie Millie has one of those." She pointed at the grandfather clock.

"We had to claim it back from the auction house. Someone had just bid two thousand pounds on it," explained one of the officers.

"Really? Wow. I need to call Auntie Millie. I hope she hasn't given it to the rag and bone man." Emma approached the clock to take a closer look. "Has anyone taken a look in the false bottom?" she asked, excitedly.

"Scribbs, if that thing had a false bottom, I'm sure the valuers would have noticed it," said Kate, crossing her arms doubtfully.

"I'll show you." Emma put on protective gloves, opened the door and crouched down. She reached in and began searching blindly. "I used to store my best spare toys in Millie's false bottom." She closed one eye and bit her bottom lip. The clock creaked and Kate cringed, clenching her teeth, expecting a subsequent crack in the antique wood. There came only a small 'pop' as Emma pulled open a panel. "Aha!"

"Anything inside?" Kate, suddenly interested, crouched down beside Emma and urged her onwards.

Emma tapped something metal. "Yep." With a sudden wrench she pulled the object free. It was an old tin fudge box: depicted on it were children's happy faces, marred by rust and dust. She handed it over to one of her colleagues.

The young officers prised open the tin to reveal bundles of paperwork, including bonds and shares. "Wow, now there's a real motive for murder. This lot is worth a fortune," said Callum.

Before standing up to dust herself down, Emma took another look inside the clock. She suddenly squinted upon noticing something on the brass-finished weight that hung to the left of the pendulum. Grasping it at the top, she unhooked it and carried it carefully over to a table. "Does this look like blood to anyone else?" she asked, pointing at a red smear on the lower left of the heavy rod.

"I think you just found the murder weapon," said Callum, impressed.

"That was stupendous. Emma, I could kiss you," Forbes announced graciously.

Emma looked excessively pleased with herself and, for once, found herself blushing slightly.

Kate, on the other hand, began to look a little maniacal; she appeared to be thinking intensely. "May I have a word with my DS, outside?" She did not wait for an answer, just caught Emma by the elbow and swiftly dragged her into the corridor, then out through a fire escape door.

"You haven't called me your DS in ages," commented Emma.

"Slip of the tongue." Kate, still holding Emma by the arm, led her to a secluded area at the rear of the station.

"Ash, it's freezing. Can I get my -" Emma's words were stopped by Kate's lips on hers. The stone wall came fast against her back. Kate's kisses were almost ferocious, if not ravenous. Emma slid her hand up from Kate's waist to her breast, only to have it batted away and the kiss halted. Leaving Emma standing, breathless, Kate straightened her clothes and re-entered the building without her DS. Emma gathered herself together, pushed off the wall and attempted to walk with wobbly knees. "What do I get if I solve the entire case?" she wondered out loud.

As she re-entered the offices, Emma shook her head. Kate was sitting quietly at her desk. Upon seeing Emma she raised a finger and said, "Don't." She did not want to be asked about their impromptu kiss.

Emma sighed, still feeling somewhat floaty. "Fine." She was getting used to Kate acting rashly and then giving her the silent treatment. With thoughts of finishing the case, Emma looked to her work. "Do you think that Paul or one of his mates did it, then?"

"It certainly fits." Kate relaxed, comfortable talking about the investigation. "They broke in and Christina discovered them, so they took drastic action, reaching for the first heavy object to hand, which happened to be part of the clock they were stealing."

"Bit stupid of them not to clean the weight before the sale."

"Mm, yes," agreed Kate.

"I've not met the second sister yet; shall we have a word?"

"To the church?"

"To the church," Emma concurred.

St. Luke's Church

They entered through the heavy gothic doors and stepped into the darkened area at the rear. Large candles on simple metal stands lit the pews at the front. Incense lanterns hung from the rafters, flooding the painted ceiling with ethereal light. Without a word of notice, the practising choir stuck into song and formed a beautiful harmony. Emma felt Kate's hand brush against hers and grab onto her wrist. She looked down.

"Sorry - I was a little overwhelmed," said Kate, releasing her grip.

"That's not like you."

"Really, Scribbs," she said, affronted. "You make me out to be a cold-hearted, hardened bitch."

"Only in the best possible sense," said Emma, as she watched Kate pacing off in the direction of the vestry.

* * *

Eileen busied herself, buttoning up her robe and smoothing her stole across her shoulders.

"If you think I killed my own mother, then may God help you - what will be next?" remarked Eileen, clearly offended.

"We just asked where you were that night, Reverend," said Emma.

"Very well. I performed an evening service, and then I was at home with my husband."

"Can you think of anyone who would want to kill your mother?"

"My father, yes… my mother, no."

Kate and Emma looked at each other. "Who would have wanted to harm your father?" asked Kate.

"William Kinnell was a cruel, miserly man. My only hope is that he was repentant before he breathed his last. Did you know he was prime suspect in the Patrick Chambers case before a verdict of suicide was reached?"

Kate and Emma left the church and walked through the grounds. Emma pulled her scarf further around her and tucked it into her coat. "If someone had intended to scare the bejesus out of William, appearing as the ghost of someone he killed would've done the trick."

"But to what end?" asked Kate. She received a call on her mobile phone and related the news to Emma. "Turns out Aaron dropped out of university some weeks ago."

"Now that would've definitely upset Daddy."

Matthew's living room

Kate rummaged around in the selection tin for her favourite sweet. Unable to find it, she took two of her second favourites and untwizzled the wrappers. Emma noted that Matthew did exactly the same thing.

"This area's a bit religious, isn't it?" Emma looked up to Kate from behind the newspaper she was reading. "Your local paper's nearly all church adverts," she said, frowning.

Kate bent over to look at the front of the paper. "You're reading the Evangelical Times."

"Oh yeah," said Emma, glancing up to the top left hand corner. "So I am." She read on, regardless.

"Katey, would you mind sewing this for me? The seam's all come adrift," said Matthew.

Kate went to take the shirt from his hands but Emma got there first. "I'll do that. Least I can do."

"Oh, thanks Emma." He left them alone. Emma settled back in the armchair closest to the fire, while Kate sat on the floor, knees together, legs to one side.

"Sewing?" remarked Kate, with an air of doubt in her voice.

"If there's one thing the Scribbinses can do, it's sew," said Emma, clearly proud of her heritage.

"You're kidding." Kate threw another log onto the fire and watched the glowing embers slump down into the grate.

"Nope. We're very good with our hands." Emma put down the sewing and waved her fingers in the air.

Kate raised her eyebrows, then resumed staring at the flames. "Well, one household talent is better than none," she commented. Emma did not take offence because she knew Kate was perfectly right. Kate picked up a collection of laboratory notes and began reading through them.

"It's Christmas Eve, Ash. Give yourself a break." Sticking the tip of her tongue out and closing one eye, Emma threaded the needle.

"There was a blood stain in the study and I just can't work out where or whom it came from."

"Maybe the person who scared William," offered Emma. "They might've had a tussle." She looked up and could not help but notice how beautiful Kate looked in the light of the roaring fire. Her hair, unpinned, was resting softly on her shoulders, her green eyes glinting, and her cheeks turning perfectly rosy.

Kate brought her hand to her right cheek, which was blazingly warm. "This says that fibres from the cloak, which was found discarded in the grounds, were also discovered in the grandfather clock."

"So they stored the cloak in the clock until they were ready to give William a fright?"

"Mm," said Kate, half listening and half reading. "Why do you think Christina wasn't sorry about her husband's death?"

"Paul might've been lying about the false tears. That, or she was the one who killed William."

Kate looked over at Emma, who was deep in concentration, hunched over, paying close attention to the detail of her sewing. Kate could not help but notice how sweet she looked.

Suddenly Emma sat up. "Well, that's it, all done. Want to see?"

Kate raised herself up onto her knees and looked down at Emma's handiwork. "Remarkably good."

"Told you."

Kate moved to pick up the shirt from Emma's lap. "Oh!" She covered her mouth.

"What?" Emma heard Kate snigger. "It's not wonky, is it?"

Kate bit the inside of her cheek but was unable to contain herself. She pressed at her eye and laughed noiselessly, her body shaking slightly. "Stand up."

Emma did so, frowning. The shirt clung to her thigh, sewn perfectly into the denim of her jeans. "Oh no!" She looked down at Kate and was faced with wide, happy eyes.

"Nevertheless, the sewing is still impeccable," said Kate, honestly.

They both burst into giggles.

Emma had gone to her room to change her trousers and unpick the stitching of her impeccable sewing, leaving Kate alone with her thoughts. Kate balanced a gold chocolate coin on the top of her thumb and flipped it. _'Heads or tails?'_

"What're you doing?" asked Matthew as he entered the room.

Kate fumbled the catch and the coin landed with a pop and a sizzle in the open fireplace grate. "Buck and follocks," she cursed under her breath, watching the foil tarnish and the chocolate bubble. She sat down in the armchair, picked up a book and began flicking through the pages. "What do you think of Emma?" she asked, trying to make the question sound as casual as possible.

"If you're seeking approval, Kate, you're not going to get it from me."

She looked up nervously. "What do you mean?"

"The only person you should be looking for approval from is yourself."

"But if you were going to give an opinion?" she probed.

"Well, you make a great team. Emma balances you out. You've given up something a bit special there, or so it seems to me. If you want someone to tell you what to do in life, then call your mother. Don't ask me."

Kate sat forward and gazed into the fire, resting her fist on her cheek.

Spare bedroom

Kate peeked into Emma's bedroom from behind the door.

"Dad's been called out to a case. He'll be gone most of the night."

"Come in a second." Emma was sitting on the bed, deep in thought. She stood up to meet Kate. "Can I be frank?"

"You may."

"We both know you're not a prude."

"So to speak, no, I'm not."

"And we've talked about sex before."

"Yes."

"So why won't you have sex with me?" asked Emma candidly.

"Gah. There _are_ nicer ways to ask these things."

"Well? You've not been responding to subtle hints… or major hints, come to think of it."

"Over the years you've been a lot more promiscuous than I have."

"I'm hardly Mata Hari," Emma protested.

"You've been with a fair few partners."

"So? Out of all the blokes I've been out with, I would say round about none of them has been half-decent."

"And I have no wish to join your long list of crap boyfriends." Kate raised her hands, as if her reasoning should be plainly obvious.

"You wouldn't. You'd be top of the list of cr-"

"Careful." Kate pointed at Emma. "Don't insult me before I've even agreed to anything."

"Ash..."

"I mean, if we're going to enter into any kind of actual relationship, there's a lot that needs to be considered..."

"Ash," said Emma, attempting to interrupt.

"Psychological issues, physiological..." Kate continued, unabated.

"Ash," persisted Emma, this time more loudly.

"I really shouldn't have kissed you at the park. It created far too much expectation..."

"Ash!" Emma exclaimed again, now laughing.

"What?"

"Shut up."

Kate looked a little stunned as Emma plunged forward, cupping her cheeks in her hands, locking her into a tender kiss. "But -" Kate found herself saying as she pulled back.

"I can stop any time you want," Emma said, before placing her lips on Kate's once again.

Kate's throat gave out a small, involuntary moan as she felt Emma's tongue press lightly against her own. "Stop," she said quietly as Emma moved to kiss her neck.

"Stop?" asked Emma, breathily, as she nuzzled into Kate's ear.

Kate frowned and bit her lip. "Yes." Her eyelids fluttered shut as Emma pushed her hand down her side and then along the small of her back, underneath the hem of her shirt.

"Sure?" Emma pushed Kate back onto the bed and roughly kissed her throat, her chin, and then her mouth.

"Mm-hm."

"Definitely?" asked Emma, trailing a finger down Kate's neck, undoing her top button.

"Definitely." Kate ran her hands underneath Emma's top, towards her shoulders, and pulled her closer. She whispered into Emma's ear. "Most definitely." The words were clear and precise, their meaning now lost; she might as well have been saying "Don't stop". She began kissing Emma's neck, causing her lover to exhale deeply. Kate's pelvis seemed to move upwards, into the space between them, searching for pressure. Emma could feel Kate's thick silver rings roll past each other as, in turn, they moved smoothly over her hip and under the waistband of her trousers. Rolling over, Kate, her weight now bearing down upon Emma, began using her right thumb to massage Emma's jutting pelvic bone. With gasps and moans muffled by kisses, a whole new level of intimacy between them, they relaxed into each other's bodies.

* * *

**Part 4**

* * *

Spare room

The sound of Slade's Noddy Holder screaming 'It's Christmas!' from the radio alarm clock woke Emma from her deep sleep. She quickly snoozed the alarm, snuggled up and watched snow falling lazily outside the window. There came a knock at the door. _'Deja vu?'_ she thought. Suddenly remembering the previous evening's events, she wondered if it had all been a dream.

"Morning?" she called out. There was a hint of a question there; she actually wanted to know who was outside the door.

"Yes, it is. Are you decent?" asked Kate.

"Does it matter?" Emma responded, still a little unsure whether or not she had spent the night with Kate. After all, why would she be knocking on the door instead of being in bed, with her? Emma turned over onto her front and cuddled a pillow.

Kate walked into the room wearing a dressing gown. She placed a cup of coffee down on the bedside table. "Morning," she said softly.

"So you're talking to me, then?"

Kate sat down on the edge of the bed and pushed a lock of Emma's soft blonde hair behind her ear so that she could see her eyes. Tracing patterns on her back, she leaned over and planted a soft kiss on Emma's right shoulder. "I've put some clothes on the radiator for you."

She began to stand up but Emma pulled her back. "Why weren't you here when I woke up?"

"I wanted to check if Dad was back. I didn't particularly want him to find us in bed together."

"He's not an ogre, you know. On the other hand, if it was your mum's house, I'd be jumping out the window right now."

"I'll make us some breakfast." Kate smiled and left Emma alone.

* * *

Emma quickly showered and snuggled her way into the clothes Kate had left out for her. She padded through to the kitchen in her socks. Leaning against the door frame, she watched Kate cooking. Kate too was now dressed and had her hair up in a ponytail, which was bobbing about as she flitted back and forth. When Kate stopped to slice a tomato, Emma took her chance to approach quietly. She moved to stand behind her and slid her hands around to her front, clasping them together on Kate's stomach. Kate sucked juice away from her thumb and smiled as she felt Emma's warm, minty breath on her neck.

"I'll lay the table," said Emma, feeling the need to be remotely useful. Kate tipped her head back and turned slightly, receiving a light kiss. Emma tugged her around and Kate yielded to the embrace, placing her arms over Emma's shoulders, holding her fingers outstretched. Emma clung onto Kate so tightly that she thought she might break. The smell and sizzle of burning drew them from each other.

"You need to stop distracting me like this," Kate scolded Emma.

"Do you mind if I call my family?" Emma pointed at the telephone.

"Go ahead," said Kate, who was grimacing at the burnt mess.

Emma went to grab the receiver. "Did you know there was a message?"

"I hadn't noticed. Play it."

Emma pressed a button and the machine buzzed to life. The voice of a woman spoke. "This is a message for the daughter of Matthew Faraday. He's been brought into the hospital..."

Stonehaven Hospital

"I'm sorry, family only," said the nurse, stopping Emma in her tracks.

"I'm her partner," said Emma, pointing at Kate, who was approaching Matthew's bedside.

"In what sense?"

Emma shrugged. "Every sense."

"Nevertheless, I -" the nurse continued. Emma flashed her police badge. "Very well."

* * *

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Stop fussing. I told them not to bother you. It was just a twinge. They're keeping an eye on me, that's all," said Matthew, weakly.

"I was worried," said Kate.

"Have you two made it up? You're both positively glowing," he commented as Emma approached.

They blushed and looked at each other. Kate nodded to her father.

"Katey, can you get me a drink?" asked Matthew. Kate squeezed his hand and strolled off. He smiled, and when she was out of sight, he leant over to catch Emma's attention. "Emma, for the love of God, will you take Kate back to Middleford with you? She's driving me out of my tiny mind with her moods. It's like having a teenager about the place again, only with more nagging. She makes me clean the house_properly_. It's not right for an old bachelor like me. I love the girl with all my heart but it's bloody hard to be with her every day."

"It's a knack," admitted Emma.

"Plus... I want to ask Fiona to move in with me."

"Fiona?"

"My girlfriend. Kate doesn't know and I don't want her to find out. That's where I was last night and let's say we got a bit carried away. That's when my heart gave out."

"Oh." Emma stifled a small giggle. "Right."

"Shh. She's coming back."

"They really shouldn't send you out on calls at night. It's not right," said Kate as she placed the cup by his bedside.

"You're quite right; I'll have a word at work after Christmas." He winked slyly at Emma.

Matthew's living room

"So it's just us today, then?" asked Emma as she knelt by the fire and built a stack of newspaper and kindling. As she rose and wandered off to find matches, Kate knelt down and re-arranged the scraps of wood and paper until she was happy them. Emma joined her, knocking her shoulder against Kate's as she sat on the floor. Kate struck a match; it flared on her first try. She lit the fire along its base, then cast the match into the grate.

"About last night..." Emma started. She paused, expecting to be stopped by Kate changing the subject.

"Last night was incredible, but..."

_'Ah, here we go,'_ thought Emma, leaning back with her hands flat on the floor.

"Under no circumstances am I to be your one night stand. Is that understood?"

Emma looked a little astonished, then nodded enthusiastically.

"We'll have to decide on no-go topics of conversation if we're to be a couple, and it has to be an exclusive relationship. I don't care how many offers you get."

Emma nodded again, grinning like a fool.

"I think you've proved yourself to be a worthy partner."

"You're so romantic, Ash," Emma said jokily as she kissed the tip of Kate's nose. "I've got something for you." She turned to rummage around under the tree.

"You're getting pine needles everywhere," exclaimed Kate.

"Here we go," Emma announced, passing back an ineptly-wrapped present.

"I didn't get you anything," Kate said, as she watching Emma trying to extract herself from under the tree without getting prickled.

"All I want for Christmas… is you," said Emma distractedly, as she shook needles from her sleeve.

"I'll pretend you didn't say that," said Kate. "Actually, there is something you can have; see if you can find the one which says: 'To Kate from Auntie Phyllis'."

Emma extracted another poorly-wrapped gift and sat back down by the fire. "For me?"

"It is now. Besides, she gets me the same thing every year."

Emma quickly pulled off the paper to reveal a pair of pink, soft cotton bed socks. "Aww, they're brilliant."

"They're just socks, Scribbs."

Emma raised herself up onto her knees and watched keenly as Kate began to unravel her gift. The ragdoll, which Kate had shown Emma two days previously, flopped out of the wrapping.

"I repaired her," Emma said proudly.

"I can see that." Kate affectionately tidied the doll's woollen hair with her thumbs. She smiled genuinely. "When did you find the time?"

"When you told me you had feelings for me it scared me, but at the same time, it was more exciting than waiting for Santa when I was little. I couldn't sleep knowing you were in the next room," explained Emma.

Kate lunged forward, knocking Emma onto her back. She lay on top of her and they kissed passionately in front of the now blazing fire. Emma's hands gripped onto Kate's bottom. The clock on the mantle struck ten. Without notice, Kate suddenly raised herself up and knitted her brow. "Christina Kinnell couldn't have been with Paul the swindler... because I was interviewing her at the time. How could I have forgotten?"

"Nice to know you're still thinking about the case when you're getting hot and heavy with me," Emma said sarcastically. "I can see what your previous boyfriends were complaining about."

They sat up.

"Unless he was lying, or perhaps he had the time wrong." Kate rubbed at her temple.

Emma smiled into Kate's warm cheek as she put her arms around her waist. "Christina had his business card in her bag," reasoned Emma.

"Come on." Kate stood up and took Emma by the hand. "Let's close this case."

Kinnell family house

Kate and Emma had gathered Geoffrey Barker, Paul Cantanzo and the remaining Kinnell family members in William's study, so as to resolve the case once and for all.

"It's just like how they wrap it up in Poirot," whispered Emma to Kate, who was standing in the middle of the room, ready to address everyone.

"Right. Let's get on." Kate looked over at the three siblings. "Firstly, we found this -" Kate held something in her hand "- in your mother's handbag."

"Aha, his calling card!" exclaimed Mary, pointing at Paul.

Paul looked confusedly at what Kate was holding. "But this is _your_ calling card."

"You're quite right - silly me," said Kate. "The real card is at the lab, being checked for prints."

"How did you know what it would be, Mary?" asked Emma.

"I... it's obvious. It's small and... and..."

"Of course, what I don't understand is why the card would be in Christina's handbag. After all, she never went to see Paul," said Kate.

Mary looked confused. "I really don't take your meaning."

"Your mother was never there… you were."

"That's ludicrous."

"Ludicrous, but _actually_ true," added Emma.

"You share enough of the same features. With make-up, a dark head scarf and spare pair of spectacles, the illusion would be complete. What happened, Mary?" asked Kate.

"Aaron said…" Mary looked at Aaron, who was willing her not to talk. "He said our mother must pay, that I was to dress like Mother and visit the medium." She pointed at Paul. "I was to confess, confess to the murder of my father, in the guise of my mother, so that they would have no choice but to report me... her. Do you understand? But... but I never got the chance to confess on her behalf. That man... that man there," she raised her finger to Paul again. "He put me in some sort of trance and I don't remember anything."

Everyone turned to look at Paul. "Hey, don't look at me. Honey, sweetheart…" he said to Kate and Emma in turn. "You can't hypnotise someone unless they're willing."

"So _that's_ how you get people to reveal their hidden treasures." Emma looked over to Mary, who had her head in her hands. "Sorry, Mary, you were saying?"

"That night, I heard a noise in the hallway and I went downstairs. Mother was there. She said she was afraid, that she was keeping a vigil, a watch for the ghost of her true love."

"Your father?" asked Kate.

"No. The ghost of Patrick Chambers, Aaron's real father. She said that he had come back, that she'd heard him accuse my father of murder and asked him to return the tin box, which my father stole all those years ago."

"How did you know about the box?" asked Emma.

"I loved my father very much, Sergeant. I think I was the only one in our family who did love him. He was my closest confidante, and I his. We spoke of everything," Mary explained. "That night, when my mother kept watch, I accused her of murdering Father. She protested and I lost myself. I took the weight from the clock and struck her." Her eyes became bright as she continued: "I avenged my father's death, just as she avenged Patrick's."

"So your father did kill Patrick?"

"Yes," Mary replied.

"What happened after you struck your mother?" asked Kate.

"I heard a noise coming from the study, so I replaced the weight and ran upstairs. When I came back down, the clock was gone."

"And what do you have to say about this, Aaron?"

"Our mother had to pay," he reiterated, crossing his arms.

"How is the wound on your head?" asked Emma.

"Much healed."

"Can you just stand over here for me?" asked Kate. She guided Aaron over to an area near a bookcase. "Hm," she said. "Is this where you were when you hit your head?"

"No. I told you before - I was in the hallway."

"But that's not true, is it? Because there is a blood stain, of your type, here." She pointed to the bookcase, at a point about six feet from the floor. "At our first interview, before your mother died, you told me you had visited William on the day he died because you, I quote" - she read from her notebook - "'wanted nothing more to do with the business of law.' Is that right?" She stepped around him.

"It is."

"But that wasn't the end of it, was it? William really wanted you to join the firm. After all, the company retained mention of your real father's name; perhaps William chose to keep it out of guilt. He owed it to Patrick to bring you up properly. The argument got out of hand. Did William push you, Aaron, like he pushed your father before you?"

"Yes," Aaron confessed.

"Your brother lied to you, Mary. Your mother didn't kill your father; it was Aaron who scared him to death."

Mary covered her mouth and became weak at the knees. She gasped and tears formed in her eyes, her hands searching beneath and behind her for a chair.

"I don't understand, Inspector. Please can you explain?" asked Eileen.

"We found a cloak with Aaron's DNA on it. He was the hooded figure that night. He was the one who scared William to death."

"I never intended to kill him; you have to understand that," said Aaron. "Mary told me who my real father was. She never was very good at keeping secrets… that is, except for the location of the tin box, which by rights is mine. I dressed in the cloak and wore a fake moustache. After all, I already have his blue eyes. I cut the power to the rooms, then I interrogated William, but the old fool just died. I didn't even touch him. I hid the cloak in the grandfather clock. After turning the power back on, Mother came out running, saying she'd heard Patrick's voice. I couldn't tell her the truth."

"You knew that it wouldn't be long before we came asking who the assailant was, and with your mother saying a ghost killed her husband, you felt you had no choice but to put your mother in the frame," said Kate.

"You bastard!" Mary shouted. "You let me believe my mother killed my father. As for the tin box, it was in the clock, you imbecile - it was right under your bloody nose. Is that all you wanted?" She ran from her chair and began pummelling her fists into Aaron's chest.

Eileen attempted to pull her brother and sister apart. "The pure wickedness of you both," she said, shocked.

Kinnell family house - outside

Emma perched on the car bonnet; she and Kate were watching Aaron and Mary being carted off by uniformed officers.

"So what's the plan?"

"I think it's time to be getting back." Kate checked her watch. "The roads should be pretty clear."

"To your dad's?"

"Yes, and then to Middleford and rotten old suburbia."

"Really? Will your dad mind you leaving on Christmas Day?" asked Emma.

"He'll be all right; he can spend it with his girlfriend," said Kate, smirking.

Emma suddenly clamped her hand over her mouth. "I wasn't supposed to mention that. Wait a minute… I didn't."

"Fiona's been flirting with him for years."

"How did you know? He tried so hard to keep it from you."

"Nothing gets past me; you should know that."

They smiled at each other.

Kate's car

When the car was packed, Kate threw the keys to Emma. "You're driving."

"There isn't much stuff here. Where's the rest of it?" asked Emma.

"In storage." They climbed into the car. "In Middleford."

"You can't be serious," Emma said, her mouth agape. "You made me think you were leaving forever."

"I thought I was." Kate clasped her hands on her lap as Emma released the handbrake. "Don't look so surprised. It's not like you placed a bet on me coming back," said Kate. There came a guilty silence from Emma's side of the car. "Did you?" Emma bit her bottom lip. "Oh, shit, you did."

"I'll take you out to dinner with the cash, Ash."

"You better bloody had do."

Before long they were on the motorway and heading for England. At one point the car bumped over a piece of car crash shrapnel and they muttered over whether to check the tyres or not.

"I could've pulled over onto the cold shoulder," said Emma, pointing behind her.

"Hard shoulder," corrected Kate. She smiled to herself and stared out of the window at the snow-covered fields. Without looking, she placed her hand on top of Emma's, which was resting on the gear lever.

A feeling of well-being washed over Emma and she looked away to conceal a smile. After all, it did pay to let Kate feel superior once in a while.

"Oh, and Emma?" Kate began.

"Yeah?"

"Merry Christmas."


End file.
